But we find little solace when such goals remain unseen.

Last Friday, January 16, 2009, my father passed away at around 10:40AM.

He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer back in March, and he underwent surgery to remove the tumor.

Over the course of the 2008 summer, he attended weekly chemotherapy sessions, at the medical center of Ohio State University, designed to prevent remaining cancerous cells from metastasizing to other organs.

Thursday, September 18, six days before my parents' third anniversary, he returns from his scheduled visit without receiving treatment. I come home from school to a dark, quiet house. My parents are sitting in the living room, without any lights on. I don't even notice them at first, until my trip from the kitchen to the stairs, to my room. I catch a glimpse of them on my periphery, and I go over to sit with them. I say 'hello,' my dad asks me how school was. I ask how their day was. Casual conversation. I comment on how good he looks, despite just returning from chemo. Usually he's a bit pale, and he is generally laying down during that day. He says he didn't receive treatment, and that he doesn't need the treatment anymore. I smile, not entirely grasping the implications of his speech. 'That's good,' I say. Then it hits me. My heart sinks.

My face obviously indicative of my thoughts, he continues without complete clarification. 'I'm going on a new treatment next month. No longer will the focus be on saving my life, but prolonging it.' My eyes begin to tear up. I avert my gaze, I've never let him see me cry before. 'They give me five months to a year to live. The best case of someone with my disease was five years.' He's not going to beat this. He's not going to survive.

I hadn't known him for an incredible amount of time, we never really got close. I had only known him for six years, but I had always assumed that he and my mother were going to be a constant. They were absolutely in love with each other. I hadn't quite reached the point to calling him my father, but I knew that it would eventually come, in time. I just couldn't grasp the thought of him dying so soon.

September 24, 2008. My parents go to the funeral home to plan his funeral. They also go skydiving. They resolved to make the most of the time they had left together.

October 2008. My father mentions to a friend that he always wanted to take my mother to Europe. An idea floats around amongst our inner-circle of close family friends of holding a fundraiser for this. People begin planning, advertising, gathering resources for the event. Eventually a date is set for the benefit: November 8.

November 7, 2008. The Friday night before the event. Our local news station sends a news team to record an interview of my parents. The interviewer breaks down in tears as my dad tells the story.

November 8, 2008. 5PM. The day of the event. My mother and I arrive to help set up. Food, drink, gambling, raffle, auction. $15 tickets. 5:50PM. Ten minutes before the official start of the benefit, people begin pouring into the building. Maximum capacity is 350. There is well over 500 people here. Nonstop action all night. The news team from the previous night returns for a follow-up story. The hall is rented until 1:00AM. Finally manage to get everyone out at 12:15. Tentative total revenue after the event is over $16,000.

Final totals of the benefit revenue, as well as additional donations, are around $20,000.

Mid-November, 2008. My mother comes to me with a request. She is trying to track down an old, close friend of my father's, Mitch, who he hasn't seen in 14 years. She wants to bring him in for Christmas, as a gift from her to him. My mother and I sift through the information she gathered from an Internet tracker service, and we attempt to make contact with a person who matches his description. No luck.

Late November, 2008. Desperation sets in for our search. After several unreturned phone calls, in which the cancer is not mentioned, my mother sends a certified letter, containing a flier for the benefit, explicitly detailing how dire the situation actually is.

December 6, 2008. My parents leave for a nine-day trip to Europe. They plan on spending four days in London, and four in Paris, with one day for travel.

During this time, Mitch receives the letter, and eagerly calls all the numbers on the flier. Unfortunately, with my mother being out of the country, her cell phone does not receive his voicemail until she returns to the States.

December 15, 2008. I am waiting in the Dayton International Airport, gazing intently down the hall where arriving passengers come through. I spot my parents, they look exhausted. My dad has lost so much weight. He has a faint yellowish tint to his skin. The return trip took more than 22 hours for them to complete.

Mid-to-late December, 2008. My father's health rapidly deteriorates. He doesn't return to work. My mother gets in contact with Mitch, and they continue correspondence, trying to set up a suitable time for him to visit. My father still knows nothing of this.

December 25, 2008. We get ready to visit the family for Christmas activities. My father isn't feeling well, but urges us to go to visit without him. We return later in the night. We unwrap the presents we gave each other, and I pull out my laptop and place it in front of my father. On it, we play a homemade video Mitch created. This is my mother's gift to my father. His dearest friend from the Navy.

January 2009. My father is getting worse. He is weaker, he does not get out of bed much anymore.

January 5, 2009. Mitch flies in from Florida, despite an extreme phobia of planes. This is due to his status as a police officer during 9/11, in which he was right in the middle during the entire incident. Like, buildings crumbling, dead bodies all around, hiding-under-a-car-to-not-get-crushed in the middle.

January 5-7, 2009. Mitch spends much time by my father's side, and they spend a great deal of time discussing what had happened since they had last seen each other.

January 8, 2009. 4AM, my mother takes Mitch back to the airport. I go in and lay beside my father, to watch over him at my mother's request. He is in and out, with his medication making him occasionally incoherent. He asks me about the car parts. He then apologizes for it, and tells me that I don't have to stay with him. I don't move. I just try to hide my tears. My mom returns soon after, but I am reluctant to leave. I want to stay by his side.

Saturday, January 10, 2009. Hospice comes in today, bringing a hospital bed and an oxygen machine for my father. My mom asks the nurse how long he might have left. She says one to two weeks, with it being closer to one. Our dog, Ninja, begins to get sick. He is an incredibly old dog, at fifteen. The lifespan for his breed is only around 10 years. He stops eating, he begins throwing up frequently. His deterioration is in parallel with my father's. They've been together ever since Ninja was a puppy.

Sunday, January 11, 2009. A family friend comes to help with Ninja. Later she takes him to the vet to get looked at. They schedule him to be put to sleep on Monday. I spend most of that night sitting at the bottom of the steps, next to him. Just scratching behind his ears. He doesn't make any indication of enjoying it, as he would in the past. He just sits there.

Monday, January 12, 2009. I wake up around 6:00AM. The door to my parents' room is closed, with my mom, dad, and Ninja inside. I don't wish to wake them. I leave for school. 3:00PM, I return home. My grandmother is here to watch my father, my mom had left minutes before to take Ninja to the vet. Minutes before. I never got a chance to say goodbye to my dog.

January 12-14, 2009. Little changes in my father's health. He can still respond verbally, but he has little strength in any part of his body except his arms. One of these nights, I have a very vivid dream. I dream of him getting up out of the bed, and coming in and talking to me. He looks as he did before the cancer. He looks healthy. I wake up around 4:00AM. My eyes get teary. Later, I spend some time with him alone. I lay next to him in my mother's bed, and he faintly asks me how I'm doing. I smile through teary eyes. I tell him I'm glad I could be with him.

School administrators, knowing of the situation, offer to let me exempt my exams this week, so that I may stay with my parents. I gratefully accept.

Thursday, January 15, 2009. My father can no longer take pill medication. He begins taking liquid medication, and is no longer responsive to attempts at communication. My mother talks to him, to reassure him that he is not alone. My dad makes front page of the local paper today. My grandfather, his dad, chooses to stay the night with us. Grandmother leaves for the night. My mom tells me that the chaplain from Hospice will be coming in the morning to pray with my father and her.

Friday, January 16, 2009. 10:45AM, My mother comes into my room. She tells me he's gone. 'The chaplain?' I ask in my mind. Then, I am hit. She grabs my hand, and looks at me with mournful eyes. She tries to pull away. Don't let go of my hand. She leaves my room, I get up from my bed in my boxers, and I go into their room, where my mother and grandfather are waiting. I kneel there beside my father's body.

My mother tells me later that the chaplain had come and prayed with them. He left, and my father passed away only minutes after. He just stopped breathing. He had his final prayer.

Saturday, January 17, 2009. A follow-up article to the one published on Thursday is in the paper. We make arrangements for public funeral services to be conducted on Monday, with a private burial on Tuesday.

Today is Monday. Tomorrow will be my final goodbye.

I miss you, and I love you.

You're quite the dullard.

NOT YET, I DON'T. AND WITH AN ATTITUDE LIKE THAT, I'M AFRAID YOU'RE SHAPING UP TO BE A PRETTY PATHETIC KING, INDEED.

In other words, it's my birthday!

I will turn seventeen at 11:14 PM tonight. What'd you get me?

And post here too.

Send me some money to pay for this bloody thing.

Edit: I'm back to having Internet now.

Oh right, you're not gone anymore.

But still, much <3.

hayyyyyy

PURPIN MADE ME AN EVERYTHING, SHOW 'IM SOME LOVE.

Comments go.

You gotta get with my friends.

Which brings up an interesting point. I wonder if Beckham got with Posh's friends. Your thoughts?

While all you delinquents were out there stealing your Grand Theft Autos and causing a ruckus, I was buying something that actually mattered.