Weddingbee Blog

Warning: This post will be a bit of a Debbie Downer, but this particular matter is really important to my story and has had a huge effect on our wedding.

Growing up, my cousin (the previously mentioned Cool J) and I lived in a world where nothing ever went wrong. His parents and mine lived in a two-family house as one big family. Our grandpa, aunt, and uncle lived three houses down. We had three healthy sets of grandparents (our moms’ parents split up and both remarried), healthy parents with happy relationships, and a stable, easy childhood. Both our dads were popular musicians in Connecticut, and our lives were filled with raucous parties, packed picnics, and crowded holidays.

My dad bringing me my birthday cake at one of the aforementioned raucous parties:

(Personal photo)

Me with my parents on vacation in Florida:

(Personal photo)

As we got older, we both found success fairly easily—we each went to good colleges and found great jobs after graduation. We were very, very lucky.

Cool J and his dad on stage, with my dad to the right:

(Personal photo)

Me with my dad at one of his shows:

(Personal photo)

Then, in October 2008, a few months after I moved to Atlanta, our idyllic worlds were changed forever. Cool J’s dad (my uncle, who is like a second dad to me) was diagnosed with skin cancer. A week later, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. Even though both types of cancer were quite dangerous, it was still early, and because Cool J and I lived in worlds where nothing ever went wrong, we all assumed they’d be fine. There wasn’t any other option.

My dad chose to get chemotherapy and radiation first in hopes of shrinking the tumor in his lung enough to remove it completely with surgery. My uncle went with surgery first and then followed with radiation. Both treatments started off well. My dad was warned that he might lose his hair and his energy, but he kept going to the gym every day and playing shows with his band at night, and he didn’t lose any of his curly hair. My uncle’s surgery went well, and though the radiation process was tough, it seemed to be very successful.

When the time came, my dad was cleared for surgery. I flew back up to Connecticut to be there for him and my family, but I didn’t think anything would go wrong. Unfortunately, the surgeons found that the cancer had spread more than they expected, and they needed to remove more of his lung than they had hoped to. Despite the bad news, my dad bounced back quickly when he woke up. The nurses were shocked at how little extra oxygen he needed, and he had a big smile on his face while he entertained his many visitors. Confident that he was on the mend, I flew back to Atlanta.

When my dad went home from the hospital a few days later, things started going downhill pretty quickly. He still needed oxygen, and he wasn’t adjusting well. One night, his lung collapsed and he was rushed back to the hospital. When I got the phone call, I flew back to Connecticut right away. The doctors weren’t sure what had caused his lungs to collapse, but they couldn’t do much and eventually sent him back home. I went back to Atlanta.

For the next week, I kept in close contact. Every time the phone rang, my heart stopped. My dad wasn’t improving and was having a lot of trouble breathing. Nonetheless, I still expected everything to turn around because he had to be OK. How could he not be?

Soon, my dad was back in the ICU. I still tried to stay optimistic, but it was getting much more difficult. And early one morning, I got the phone call I’d been hoping wouldn’t come. My dad had needed to be put on an aggressive ventilator. Because of the particular setting he required, he had to be kept unconscious. It was unclear what was going on, but I needed to get back as quickly as possible and prepare to say my goodbyes.

When Mr. Panther and I got the airport, things kept going wrong. Atlanta was getting a freak snowstorm, and almost all the flights going out were canceled. We had no tickets, and the ticket counter lines were hours long. We tried to get to the front of the line, telling the other travelers in line about our situation, but were met with only apologetic looks and polite refusals. Finally, we got on the phone with a travel agent who somehow got through the red tape and got us on a flight. When we finally got to the hospital in Connecticut, my dad was still hanging on. He hung on for three more weeks, but never improved enough to be woken up. When his heart began failing, we chose to take him off the ventilator. Just a month after the surgery that was supposed to save his life, on March 11, 2009, my dad died.

I realize that most bees don’t go into this much detail when they talk about deaths in the family. I know the purpose of this blog is to share the joys and challenges of wedding planning, not to tell heartbreaking stories about family tragedies. But the point I’m trying to make here is that a year and a half ago, my world was turned upside down, and I went from living with eternal optimism to living in a world where everything was out of my control. I used to be a very laid-back, easygoing person. But when I realized that every phone call could be the one that would change my life, I changed. Losing my dad has affected the wedding in the obvious ways, of course—he won’t walk me down the aisle, I won’t have a father-daughter dance, etc. But what I’ve also realized is that I’ve become a huge control freak—I have this desperate need to feel like my life is stable and I choose my future—and that makes planning a wedding a bit more difficult.

If any of you have read all the way to here, thank you. I know this is a long post, but there were a lot of things I needed to share, and rather than spreading out depressing things in more than one post, I figured I’d just shove ‘em all into one and hope that a few people read it.

Oh, and here’s some positivity: My uncle, Cool J’s dad, is now in remission. All signs imply that he’s going to be just fine. He’ll be walking me down the aisle, and I’m incredibly thankful to have him.

If anyone has had a similar experience, I’d love to hear about how you’ve dealt with it.