Then this morning, I had a ecard from Lisa who sweetly remembered that this is the day.
Where to start? How much do I want to say? Tell a bit of the story now? Save some for later?
Ray McNew was my step-father but I knew him from the day I was born. Ray and my real dad, George, were in the service together in Massachusetts in the sixties. That is where Ray met his 1st wife, Jan, and my dad met my mom. The couples got married. Ray and Jan moved to California, then to San Antonio, Texas. My mom and dad moved to New Mexico and then to San Antonio as well. The Berich's (my maiden name) even visited the McNew's out in California.
The families all lived in San Antonio and would get together with all of the children. The McNew's had three boys ~ Jay, Michael, and Brian. My parents had Susan and then I came along in August 1976. Jan McNew signed my baby book as a hospital visitor...
George was an abusive alcoholic that beat my mom. Apparently, my sister and I used to hide in my sister's room when he would be in a rage. He didn't want my mom to work (she did sell Avon), get out of the house much, or have friends of her own. He kicked her out of the house Labor Day weekend 1978. She said she grabbed her Avon money out of her car and walked to a friend's house. She eventually had him arrested and a plan to divorce him was in place.
At this time, Ray had already separated from Jan due to other issues. George sent Ray over to our house as a "go between". My mom was like, "let me tell you what has been happening for the past 14yrs..." (My parents had been married for 10 years and dated for 4 years before that ~ she knew what she was getting into.) Ray had known that George was abusive to women because he had seen him do that while they were in the service together. Ray later said that he hoped George had changed.
Ray moved into our house and they lived together until they were married in our living room in November 1979. Susan grew up with major issues about Ray being her dad's friend one day, and living in our house the next. For me, I never knew any different ~ I was two when they got together and Ray was always my "daddy" in every way. If George would've treated my mom right, then they would've stayed together. Period.
1979George had his issues as well. He would call Ray "the shackup" long after my parents were married. Ray's nickname was "Mick" for "Mickey McNew" because he was so talented he could "Mickey Mouse" anything ~ fix cars and later build houses. Susan continued to call Ray "Mick" until the day he died while to me he was always, "dad". George would get set off if we were with him for the weekend and we wanted to go to "McDonald's". George never remarried and remained bitter and alone until the day he died in Aug. 2005.
Jay, Michael and Brian continued to live with their mom and we had them every other weekend. It was almost like the Brady Bunch. Michael and Susan were the same age and me and Brian were only a year apart.
My parents were always close and loving as a couple but weren't like that with us. It's like they had their "thing" and we were secondary. It's like they loved us at arms-length.
My dad was very "old-school". He grew up in West Texas ~number 10 out of 11 kids~ practically working from the day he was born. He raised us with that mentality ~everyone had chores, everyone was to be up at the crack of dawn like he was, and he was a firm disciplinarian. My dad worked a good job at IBM and we always had a nice house but they always drove old cars. We never took vacations and we weren't given money for clothes, cars or college. He was tight but in reflection, I am grateful for that because in the end, he left my mom with plenty.
Growing up, my dad would leave IBM, stop on the way home and get a beer. Everyday, he'd come home with the beer in a small paper bag around it. He'd sit at the kitchen table and finish it while my mom cooked dinner. He'd go change and then head outside (where was able to smoke) until dinnertime. He'd eat dinner, leave his plate on the table and head back outside until after dark. He'd piddle in his workshop or in the garage and come back into the house about 9. Then he'd stay up and watch the news and go to bed.
On some Sundays my mom would take us girls to church. My dad would stay behind and either go fishing, hunting, or do something at the house. He never went to church with us unless I was in a program or it was a holiday.
Everything changed in May 1997 when my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer that metastasized to his brain. He was given 4 weeks-2 months to live "if" he "chose" to treat. He was 52.
My dad chose to be a fighter. Within a week, he started massive chemo and radiation treatments, quit IBM (can't drive while on seizure meds), stopped smoking and drinking beer (didn't taste good w/chemo drugs). I was living in Bryan at the time and would come home alot and go sit with my dad at chemo.
Within a week, my dad also turned his life over to God. From that point on, he never worried about cancer and lived everyday loving life. He would tell us that he wished we had the peace that he had. He became a faithful member of the country church down the road and would tell his testimony to anyone. He would go to Brotherhood breakfast, Promise Keepers, volunteer and just be a walking miracle. And he was affectionate! He even would hug other men and tell him that he loved them!
I believe my dad got cancer so he could finally be the man he had the potential of being.
Within a year, my dad was declared "in remission". Then a couple years later, he had something come back in the brain. He had out-patient gamma knife surgery to remove it. He made FIVE years (remember he had two months to live!) and my parents celebrated by going on a cruise.
Within a month, in late June 2002, my dad was diagnosed with leukemia. Leukemia was a result of all of his chemo and radiation over the past five years. My dad needed a bone marrow transplant and a donor. He was sent to MD Anderson in Houston and put in isolation for a month. It was like visiting someone in jail, we could only talk to him and see him through a glass window. He was so sick and they were breaking his body down to it's lowest to be built back up with healthy bone marrow. My dad's brother, who was 20years older than him, was a match.
My mom rented a house in Houston and by December he was released to that house. They still had to be close enough for him to receive treatments and testing. Then he was free to come home to Georgetown that spring.
Macy was born in May 2003 and he was there for her birth. After having three sons and two grandsons, Macy Lynn was his first baby girl!. It was a large room which had a sitting area off to the side. At the very last moment, I asked him if he would like to watch. I thought for someone who has been so close to death, it would be cool to see birth.
Within a month, he was back in the hospital. He'd fall at home, have seizures at home and at church and was basically a very sick man. Everything came to a head when my parents went to my brother's wedding in early October 2003. My mom had to wheel him around in a wheelchair and his health was steadily going downhill. When the plane touched down in Austin, she took him straight to the hospital. Susan's 1st son, Tyler, was born that night.
It was the beginning of the end ~ for real this time.
Amazingly, Gregg, Baby Macy and I had just moved to Temple the week before. We were 45 minutes away from Georgetown, I wasn't working anymore, and I could just pack my baby up and we'd go spend time with my dad. Clearly, God's hand was all over this.
From the hospital in Austin, it was decided that he needed to be at MD Anderson again. Baby Tyler was just three weeks old when my sister and her husband drove to Houston from Mississippi. She needed Tyler to meet his Papa and Macy and I came that weekend as well. Susan and I said our "goodbyes" to him because we were certain he wasn't going to make it.
God wasn't finished with Ray McNew yet. Since there was no further treatment that MD Anderson had to offer, it was time to leave. With his health, his seizures, his falls and being in a wheelchair, my mom could not care for him at their home. In November, at 59 years old, it was decided to put him into a nursing home in Georgetown. He was the youngest person there.
Macy and I went a couple of times a week to see him. He lit up and was so good with Macy. Her third word was "Papa" which she always said in a whisper to him. He thrived, had rehab and always had a smile. He was in and out of the hospital a couple of times with pneumonia and in January he was put on hospice. Then they took him off hospice because "he was better." Such a roller coaster.
The end came the week after Father's Day. His poor body just started shutting down. He was put on hospice again and we were given a book that detailed all of the signs of death. Wednesday was when he had his "sudden burst of energy" as the hospice book describes. It was the last day he ate anything or that I heard him speak. The last words that I ever heard come out of his mouth were "I love you Tracy." (My mom had already told him goodbye for the night). Precious words to me.
The next day on Thursday, he slept and we didn't even attempt to have him eat or drink anything. Two of my dad's sisters came to be with my mom and between the four of us, we rotated staying with him. I was able to say anything and everything to him, just hold his hand and love him. I even sang to him over and over the first hymn that came to mind:
I love you Lord,
And I lift my voice,
To worship You,
Oh, my soul rejoice.
Take hold my King,
In what You hear,
May it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ear.
On Friday, hospice told us he wouldn't make it through the weekend. We left Friday night to go home and get a good night's sleep because we were going to come back and stay the entire weekend. I went home that Friday night and at 10:30 before I went to bed, I began to feel guilty. My dad was alone, in a nursing home, dying. I felt compelled to jump in the car to go sit with him. I talked myself out of it because I knew I'd be there the rest of the weekend. I called the nursing home before I went to bed to check on him and then went to bed. The sooner I fell asleep, the sooner I could go back to be with him.
The phone rang at 1:10 am and it was my mom. She said, "we lost Dad." I threw on clothes and sped to the nursing home in the middle of the night. My mom and my aunts were there and they had already been in to see him. I went in and stood at the end of his bed and finally went to his side and kissed him. He was finally, after 7 years, at peace.
We waited at the nurses station for the funeral home to come get him. I will never forget him being rolled away covered up in a black tarp. It was excruciating.
I have often wondered if I should've gone to be with him that night. I wonder if he was by himself when he died. One of the nurses said she was with him and I hope that is true. As my mom has reassured me, he would not want us to see him that way. It's like he knew we were gone, so he could go.
We buried him on June 28th and it was a blazing hot day. Two days later, we went back to the cemetery again before my brother and sister left town. And it had just rained and guess what? There was a rainbow, like he was giving us a sign "look what I can do from heaven". We were comforted through our tears. I saw more rainbows that summer (and even double rainbows!) than I had ever seen in my entire life.
It is no accident that I am married to Gregg. Gregg lost his mom eleven years earlier so he knew my loss. (And Gregg's sister Melinda's husband lost his father after they married: his other sister, Lindsey, is engaged to a boy that has lost his mother). Gregg has been such a comfort to me all of these years.
For well over a year, I couldn't go to sleep on Friday nights. And I would wake up almost every night around 1am. It haunted me for a longest time. I kept crying and asking Gregg, "time has gone by, when is it going to get better?? Because it's not better yet!"
It has been four years now. The tears are fewer and farther between. My heart is still filled with sorrow and I miss my dad terribly. But I am happy that he is finally has a healthy body, a clear mind and is with God.
God blessed us with 7 extra years with my dad. One would think of all of the chemo, radiation, tests, blood draws, hospital stays, and then living in a nursing home, that he would complain. Let me be clear ~ he never once complained or felt sorry for himself. He was so glad to be alive!
From May 1997 until June 2004, my dad spent every minute of every day loving life, loving everyone in his life and most of all, loving God. He was a walking testament of faith and God used him for His glory. His story inspired everyone who ever was around him. I hope you are inspired as well.
May God continue to bless each and every one of you.
June 2004 ~Macy in Papa's arm~ just the way I imagine God holding all of His children
I found this scripture shortly after my dad was diagnosed and it remained my anthem:
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perserverance: perservance, character: and character, hope. And hope does not dissappiont us, because God poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5:1-5
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