Farewell to my Dad

 The past month has been an unprecedented ride for our family. Things both great and small have been difficult at a level not felt since the birth of Jael. But like Jael's birth, we find the hand of the Almighty in the most unexpected of places. Below, my beautiful wife details the story of her father's unexpectedly short final days and the grace afforded her through the most difficult of times. 

There are always a few events in life that forever change you-- events that are both challenging and life altering, often leaving scars but also allowing God's sustaining hand to be seen. Jael's birth, when first I nearly died from the anesthesia and then subsequently learned about her arthrogryposis diagnosis and began a new way of living life with my sweet, medically complex little lady, was one of those events.

My dad's death is another.



While this is a hard story to write, it's an important story to remember.

It started (just!) five weeks ago, on March 22nd 2017, when my younger sister Laura called to tell me that my mom had called and was concerned about dad. Over the previous couple of weeks he'd become physically exhausted and had fallen twice for no apparent reason. He was being taken off surgical duty until they could figure out what was going on.

I carried on with life the next day, convincing myself I was not going to worry before the results came back. In my absolute worst case scenario, perhaps there was a brain tumor that they would have to remove and he'd maybe have to have chemo/radiation, and we'd maybe only have a year or so with him.  Hopefully, it would simply be forty years of round-the-clock service to his patients having ground him to a halt, and some rest and relaxation would make him hale and hearty again.

Unfortunately, my 'worst case' wasn't nearly that.

When Laura called the next day with the MRI results, I was putting Ari down for nap and couldn't grab the phone. When the phone immediately rang a second time, I knew it was bad. Two calls in a row is our code that it's an emergency. She told me the results straight forward: She didn't have good news. Dad's MRI had revealed 5 brain tumors, and the doctor who read them had told him to admit himself immediately to the local emergency room as complications were imminent. Within 24 hours, they had done a thorough workup and started to form a treatment plan. With no cancer showing up in a CT scan and his initial bloodwork being clear, he decided to have a brain biopsy done over the weekend to determine what kind of cancer it was and if it was treatable.

Still reeling, I packed up Aryel and myself and boarded a plane to Delaware leaving Micah with the larger marauders for a three-day trip to see my dad and give him a hug.

We joined my mom and both sisters at the hospital and spent some time hugging and crying and laughing together Friday afternoon. Saturday morning, good friends graciously watched Ari all day long so us 'Claytons' could be together at the hospital while dad underwent his brain biopsy.

 In the waiting room

(Every time I look at this picture taken in the hospital elevator all I can think is 'strong women')

Saturday afternoon, after a successful biopsy, Dad asked for a CT scan because he felt something was wrong (being a surgeon he knew exactly what was happening and all the implications) and indeed, the tumor swelling was significant. While the doctors continued doing everything they could to control it, by Sunday morning, the swelling had not improved. Emergency surgery would be required to save my dad's life. At the same time, my window of visitation was up -- it was time for me to fly back to MA to take care of my own family, so I did one of the hardest things I've ever done; I said my goodbye to my dad fully expecting to never see him alive again, and boarded a plane home.  

 (Ari showing off his medical skills in the ICU -- we smuggled him in as his unbounded joy at seeing his 'Pa' was just what the doctor ordered)

Amazingly, my dad pulled through the second surgery as well, fighting an amazing fight as he tried to recover his strength and hold on to see what the results of the biopsy would show. Personally, I struggled greatly with where I should be. While my family needed me in MA, I couldn't help but feel the immense heartbreak that I might be missing the last time I would ever have to spend with my dad.

It was during that week back in Beverly that God, in His mercy, gave me a clear vision of my dad. I saw my dad in his hospital bed in the neuro ICU with Laura in a chair by his side, and my mom resting at the foot of his bed. In the vision, stretching over all three was God's mighty wing, hovering over the whole room and protecting all who gathered there. Truly, what can be more comforting than your heavenly Father showing you beyond doubt's shadow that your earthly father is, as he has always been, under His care and protection.

The biopsy results came back on Thursday March 30th, a week from the initial MRI. The diagnosis: glioblastoma, an incurable type of brain cancer. Because of the nature of the diagnosis and because of how advanced the tumors were, my dad decided to enter hospice care to spend the time he had left with us.

As he got settled into his new room, I talked with Micah, and began working on a plan to visit again. He would watch the kids over a long weekend, and I would set up babysitting for the days that I would be gone.  The support our friends, family and church community provided (then and now, as they continue to bless us with meals, date nights, and unexpected gifts even after his passing) was overwhelming.  By the time I left on April 6th, we had all the help needed with meals and children.

 So it was that after creating a flow chart full of information (I can't help it -- I'm a planner!)  on who was providing daily childcare, updated schedules for each child, and help with meals, I left my family in MA and flew out to spend some time with my family in DE -- the last time that we would all be together this side of heaven.  

And what a sweet time we had- dad and his girls! As I watched him face down his mortality, I was struck by the fact that you may never  know the full measure of a man's life until you watch him face its end. My dad did so with grace, and humor, and love. We had a weekend together that was filled with memories we'll never forget. The nurses were wonderful taking care of him; friends and family helped both in DE and MA taking care of us (all of us!) so that we daughters and mom could just be together with my dad in the hospital. And so many colleagues, nurses, patients, friends, and family wrote beautiful messages to dad.  We would read the new letters to him daily as we sat with him so that he knew how loved he was.  The vigil was long and surprisingly emotionally exhausting, but precious beyond all words.  

One last selfie with dad!

I returned to MA on Monday and when I finally got into the car at the airport I had one child puking in the back seat, one child screaming "mama", a little lady happier to see me than she could put into words, one child with more than enough words to cover everyone's happiness,  and a husband who would never again underestimate just how draining five solo days with tiny dictators could be. All I could think was, "They need me!" and a little bit of peace was again restored to my heart.

Laura and dad

On April 20th, 2017,  exactly four weeks after his brain MRI, my dad, surrounded in his room by his family, was ushered by the angels through the gates of Paradise.  We don't know what he saw as he traded his mortal body for an immortal one, nor would we have words to describe it, but we can say with surety what he heard: "Well done, thou good and faithful servant... Come and share your

master's happiness!"

And until we meet again, Dad, at the marriage-supper of the Lamb, in the great and glorious feast of the ages -- we're going to miss you!