The Claudia Brown

One year ago today, I got the message I had been dreading to hear.

My father had been rushed to the ER … and the doctor didn’t think he would make it.

His health had been touch and go for several years since his oral cancer diagnosis and surgery that robbed him of two of his greatest joys: communicating and eating.

My father was a master lecturer and professional pianist and even in his 80’s he continued to perform to packed crowds.

He loved going out to restaurants to eat and one of my favorite childhood memories was picking out chocolate cherry cordials for his annual Christmas present.

But as his body grew weak, his mind stayed sharp and his spirit never dimmed. He had plans to finish a book, teach one more class, play his piano again, and enjoy the walk-in bath tub that was being built for him in a new apartment at my sister’s house.

Like an old cat with nine lives, he had evaded so many close calls through the years that I also wanted to believe he had more time.

But one year ago today, it looked like the end.

I couldn’t believe the timing.

Only days earlier on November 11, my college dean had approved my sabbatical proposal.

I had proposed to take a year’s leave to write a book and a one-woman show, inspired by my experiences at Burning Man.

My parents had always been the biggest champions of my writing, encouraging my potential since I was a little girl.

My father once inscribed in a book he gave me as a teen that “he hoped that I would one day share my sense of humor with the rest of the world. “

However, my adult years were mainly focused on my family and my students — this sabbatical would be my greatest professional opportunity to date!

My father was the first person I wanted to tell, and I couldn’t wait to share the news. I planned to visit the next day; however, a disagreement with a friend was weighing on my mind and I so I put off making the visit.

And now this!

When I got to the hospital, my mother was by his side, just as she always had been: unwavering in her commitment and support.

His prognosis was unclear, and time would tell the outcome.

Although he wasn’t awake, I shared the news of the sabbatical with my father – grateful to have had the chance to do so, while praying on the car ride home this would not be the end.

The next day, the stars aligned and my sister texted me a photo from the hospital. My father was sitting in a chair with a smile on his face!

This time when I visited and shared the news about my sabbatical, my father’s eyes widened with joy!

“We can see her!” My father said excitedly, looking at my mother and then back at me. “We can go to see her in her play!”

I visited him at the hospital almost daily, sharing very special moments that went beyond words.

After a week in the hospital, he came home to hospice, yet I kept hoping for more time. He was such a fighter and there was no talk of surrender.

My father has been working on a book about farm life for many years, which he was hoping to publish. I reached out to friends and former students to help proof and format his essays to publish in book form on Amazon.

It was going to be a surprise, but I made an impulsive decision on November 27 to ask my mother for her opinion on the book cover. As my father slept beside her in his reclining chair, I took notes as she shared her ideas.

On November 28, an hour after I took the cover photo for the book, I received a message from my mother that my father had passed.

He was 85.

Every day is a gift.