MY STORY TO TELL

DEATH OF A LEGEND

The family was gathered together at a surgeon’s office, we were scheduling the surgery that would go in and remove the tail of the pancreas. At this point, 2 weeks post diagnosis, we were told the cancer had been contained to the tail of the pancreas. Which is the best you could ever hope for with pancreatic cancer. The surgeon wanted to do one more MRI prior to scheduling the surgery so my dad went and had the MRI done, the family went to lunch and was scheduled to be back within two hours to schedule the surgery. It was a somber lunch the best I can remember, which honestly isn’t much. We arrived back at the surgeon’s office, which they called the entire family back to a private waiting room. What happened next, I will never forget. As the entire family sat in the private waiting room, the nurse came and pointed to me and told me I had a phone call. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me with a bewildered look. Everyone that is except for my dad. He knew what was coming, I had no idea, but he did. I should have known from his look. I was curious who would be calling me at the hospital because I had a cell phone in 2005, no one knew I was there that wasn’t with me, I followed the nurse back anyway. She took me directly to the surgeon’s office. He was waiting for me. As it turns out, within the two weeks since the prior MRI, the cancer had spread to his hip and basically all over his body. It had metastasized. Surgery was no longer an option. This surgeon told me my father had between 6 months to 18 months to live. I was destroyed. Crushed, fucking angry as a mother fucker. Tears flowing down my face. I had to put all of that aside. I had to walk back out to my family and act like everything is good. I informed the surgeon to not give my father any prognosis. From day 1, my father instructed all of us to never tell him a prognosis, just to let him believe he had a chance to beat this thing. I made sure that his wishes were met.

When the entire family was called into meet with the surgeon, it was a devastating. As devastating as it was, we were driven to get started on treatment as soon as possible and to see my dad into remission. Our next step was to meet an oncologist at the same hospital in Birmingham. She too informed me in private that my father probably had only 6 months to live, at best. Which was a far shorter time than the 18 months I heard a few days prior. Of course, the surgeon said 6 to 18 months, I just heard 18. Trying to remain positive I suppose. My father was dead set on getting the best treatment that was available and unfortunately that was not in Birmingham at the time. We immediately called MD Anderson in Houston, TX and began the process of getting my father seen. We had to send all medical reports to make sure they would see him. They agreed and my mother, father and myself went out there. My father let everyone know he wanted me there because he knew I would make sure his wishes were met and I would walk through hell to see him get the best treatment. He knew my mother was too timid to really push people and to push his agenda through. I wasn’t, I was the exact opposite.

I must admit, during the couple of weeks between our meeting with the oncologist in Birmingham and our time to leave for Houston, my father had declined years in just a couple of weeks. He was no longer able to walk with out a walker. He was so sick. The flight to Houston was extremely tough on my father. I am honestly surprised he made it. Once we arrived at MD Anderson, they were amazing. The minute we arrived every person we encountered treated us amazing. One thing I loved about MD Anderson that I never encountered with other hospitals is they were time conscious. They knew their clientele were fighting against the clock and time mattered more than anything. They wasted no time in getting my father put through so many tests. They would come get him at 3 in the morning for a MRI, 6 AM for bloodwork, they truly rushed. Yet no matter how much they rushed, it was all for not.

After two days in Houston, the oncologist sent his nurse into the room to get me. Again, for the 3rd time, I was called out and told I had a telephone call. My mother and father both knew I had a cell phone and there was a phone in his room, so this made no sense. Again, I was confronted with horrible news. The cancer was much more aggressive than originally believed and again had spread so much in the two weeks since his last MRI, the oncologist told me they would not be able to treat my father. He told me we needed to take my father home and place him on hospice. This was the absolute last thing my father would want to hear. I informed the oncologist this was not an option. My father, my best friend in this entire world was a fighter, you simply do not send him home to die. He had fought his entire life for those he loved and he would fight now too for his life. After a serious discussion, the oncologist looked at me and said we aren’t refusing to treat your father because we are heartless, it is the exact opposite. The treatment will not save your father, but it will cause him to have a quality of life that is not ideal, so it is because we have a heart, we are refusing to treat him, however; I will honor your father’s wishes, we will treat him. I had won, I had made sure my father’s wishes were met. Truth be told, that oncologist was correct. He told me my father had 3 weeks to 3 months to live. My father lived a month and half after that meeting. That month and a half was pure hell. We began treatment in Houston and it was at this point I made the decision to let my mother know the true extent of my father’s illness. Up until this point, I was the only one who knew. I tried to tell my older sister, I begged her for her help, she refused to believe any of it. I will never forget when I called her, in tears begging for her to fly out to Houston and to help me, she refused.

I will never forget, I called my cousin Barry, the geologist I worked with in Kentucky, I told him about my father and that I had to tell my mother and I was crushed. I was crying, I was scared and I didn’t know how to do it. I had no one to turn to. I did what I had to and I pulled my mom aside and let her know everything the doctors from Birmingham and in Houston had told me. I told her the prognosis and that dad didn’t have long. After dad went through his first round of treatment, we went back to Birmingham and continued his treatment in Birmingham. It wasn’t long, dad was back in the hospital. He was not doing well. He had lost his ability to speak. He was in the hospital for probably a week before they finally sent him home with hospice. It was June 28, 2005, dad wasn’t doing well. I informed mom that she needed to tell the family that anyone who wanted to see dad, they needed to come tomorrow. I am not a psychic or anything, I just knew the time was near. June 29, 2005, a lot of the family was at the house, dad was in his hospital bed, he was awake, he would look at you, but I had not seen my dad really move or talk in a week. I will never forget, my wife at the time brought Hannah by, she had just gotten out of school, she was 8 and she was the love of my father’s life. They were so close, it was heartbreaking to witness her saying goodbye, at least I thought it was going to be. In reality, the exact happened. Hannah was so brave and so mature for her age and her love for her Big Daddy was more than I can describe with words. As Hannah went up to my dad, she proclaimed her love for him and just talked to him, the next thing that happened stays with me to this day and I imagine it will for the rest of my life. The man who had not moved in a week, lifted his arm and grabbed Hannah’s arm above the elbow and shook her arm just like he used to. His was of saying I got you kid, you’re going to be ok, Big Daddy loves you. Hannah soon left and 30 minutes later, my father passed away. I will never forget; we had a house full of family and church members at the house. Mom was in the kitchen and I knew the time was at hand, I had to stop my mom from talking to everyone and to come be by my father’s side during his passing. She of course did and together as a family, we all were there for my father.

Little did I know at that moment, my life would be forever changed. I was crushed, my soul hurt like nothing I ever imagined. I was full of hate, desperation and most of all I was full of fear. See my life since I was adopted, I could attempt anything and if I failed, I always had my father to pick me up. Not necessarily pick me up, but teach me how to pick myself up. Though at the time, I didn’t realize the difference. Now, I didn’t have my safety net and I was petrified. I was angry that my father taught me so much in life, yet I felt at the time he didn’t teach me how to deal with the death and the loss of a loved one. When in fact, that is what he was teaching me my entire life, was how to be a man and stand up on my own and take care of those I loved. It would take me a year of drinking, taking pills, doing what ever I could to lessen the pain, to hide my inner self falling apart. I can honestly say I have never been so scared in my life. I truly did not know how I was going to live. I would have panic attacks when I thought about it, I couldn’t breathe, my breath would leave my body and I was never one to experience anything like this. I was the type of person and still am mostly to this day that never worries about anything. I learned at an early age in life that worrying doesn’t stop the bad from happening and more times than not, people worry about things that never come to fruition. However, during the year following my dad’s passing, I was not the same person. I let fear dictate my everyone move.

During this time, my time with Stephanie was horrible. We were not on the same team it appeared, I don’t want to say she wasn’t supportive, but she was not nurturing. She knew life had to continue and expected me to get on with life. I couldn’t. I had to grieve and even though that pissed her off, I didn’t care. I remember one night when we were fighting, she said I was going to lose her if I didn’t get a grip, I quickly responded, I just lost my father, you think I give a fuck about losing you? It was something along those lines. I was heartless, I was calloused, I was so full of hate and anger, definitely anger. She didn’t deserve the way I treated her, I know that, I was wrong. I am often. I didn’t see myself being wrong at the time, I just knew we both were moving in different directions. For whatever reason we were not the same couple we had been. We fought often and when I say often, it was often. So often that Hannah would say to me, why don’t you two just get a divorce. I didn’t know what to say to her. I loved her mother, we had a son who was a year and a half old, we had Hannah who was truly my best friend, just as my father was. Everything I ever did, I included Hannah and now that Abram was getting older, I was including him. I loved my kids more than life itself and there is no doubt I was a much better father than I ever was a husband. After about a year of grief and inexcusable behavior, I finally started to feel myself come around. I was slowly learning that life does go own. Time does heal all things. It does not mean you ever lose the love you have for those that have passed or that you forget them. It just means that you learn to live with that pain and you turn that pain into love. That hurt you carry with you at the time of their passing, now becomes memories, love that you experienced and you hold onto that. You start to smile at the thought of them instead of crying. You find a way to move forward.

Life starts seeming to be alive and for me, it was most definitely Abram who saved me. See as I stated earlier, I was convinced that I was destined to have one child. There was no way I could love another child as much as I loved Hannah. Not going to happen, just not possible. You see though, the Good Lord knows way better than you do. You have to trust in God and his plan for you. See Abram was two and a half and he was now walking and talking and his cries for daddy, which was me, woke me up and reminded me I now had to be for him what my father was for me. I always considered Hannah my mini me, and trust me, she so is in so many ways, but Abram was definitely my mini me. He needed to have a father that loved him like my father loved me. Both of my kids did and I truly believe and credit Abram for saving my life. It was his perfect age at that perfect time in my life when I needed it more than ever that woke me up and caused me to get my shit together. I will always use this a reminder that God knows exactly what he is doing when things in my life seem to not be going the way I want them to. It always gets better. Always. Trust in God and let the plan work itself out. It does not mean life is easy. It isn’t. It is hard as fuck just like Rocky said, it will knock you to your knees and keep you there if you let it up. You just have to keep getting up and keep moving forward. (Thanks Rocky!) I know it is a cliché, but it is so true and sometimes it takes something to remind us to keep fighting. For me, Abram was that catalyst and I never imagined when he was born that he would be the person that ended up saving my life. Thanks Abram, I love you and Hannah so much and I am so proud of you both!

The funeral, well the funeral was a cluster fuck on all accounts. My mother, my older sister and I went and picked out the casket and the location of the burial site for my father. See my father had always wanted to be buried in a mausoleum. He was very claustrophobic and it was not until two weeks before his death he told my mother that he wanted to be buried next to his brother and he had changed his mind about being placed in a mausoleum. The three of us followed through with his wishes. We picked out a beautiful location, the casket was gorgeous. I worked hard to put a video together celebrating my father’s life. You can actually see the video here https://youtu.be/DZvzYsJGs5E.

I never forget arriving to the funeral home the night before the funeral service early to see my father. We were having the viewing that night and I wanted to make sure he looked ok. I could not have been any happier. My father was so sick for the last 3 months of his life, he finally looked like his old self. They did an amazing job and I was so happy. I knew that my family would be happy seeing him and they were. As happy as you can be seeing a loved one in a casket. I also remember my brother’s sister, my Aunt Anne asking me to take a picture of him in the casket. This was a common thing for older generations and I obliged her request. I think it would have been hard to do if he didn’t look so good and so peaceful. That night, things went very well. I would do anything for my Aunt Anne, she was my father’s only sister and had a heart of gold like my father. So, her request, was an honor.

Fast forward to the next day and the funeral from hell. We had a very good friend of my father perform the service for the funeral. We didn’t realize the gentleman was older and apparently wasn’t in the right state of mind. Actually I don’t know what his deal was, but the funeral service was all about his relationship with my father and then a religious church service. He barely mentioned my mom or the kids. I was fuming. I literally was about to get up and thank him and take over. I don’t remember ever being so upset. The saving grace to the funeral service was my father’s Fire Chief and his brothers from the fire dept came and they took my father’s casket from the funeral home to the grave side in the back of the fire engine. Upon arrival at the grave side, Chief Kevin Sutton, may he too rest in peace, gave a beautiful talk about my father, rang the final bell for my father and they lowered his casket on to the straps that held the casket. At this time, I would be kicked in the balls for the second time of the day. Chief Sutton had said my father had always talked about his helmet going to his grandson, the grandson who was named after my father, John Abram Vinsant. My dad often promised his helmet to my son. Problem was, my wife at the time, Stephanie, didn’t think it was a good thing to bring Abram to the funeral since was just a year and a half old. I honestly probably will never forgive her for that. Anyway, as Chief Sutton walked over with the helmet, he realized my son wasn’t around so he handed it to my sister’s son. My sister knew that helmet was meant for my son, it was promised to my son. I was again furious, hurt and kicked in the nuts for the second time that day. My only saving grace was thinking to myself that my sister would do the right thing and give me the helmet after the funeral service. Same sister who I had begged to help me during my time in Houston and in Birmingham and she never once helped me. Why the fuck would I honestly expect that cunt to ever do the fucking right thing. I learned right then with that experience exactly what type of person she was and it would only continue for years to come.

Well once the funeral service was over, the family got up. I walked my mother to the car. My family was in the backseat and I was driving my mother. Problem was we couldn’t go anywhere because my cunt ass older sister, yes the same one who refused to believe my father was sick and dying, the same one who was never around to help with his illness was now throwing her self on his coffin screaming in the most redneck accent, “Oh Daddy, don’t go Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”. I mean what the fuck. I was like you’re almost 40 years old. You had every opportunity to be there and accept what I was telling you. It was truly the most embarrassing thing and the most horrific thing I had ever witnessed at that time. I was seriously about to lose my shit. I told Stephanie to drive and I got out and walked all the way back to the funeral home. It wasn’t a long walk, but I just couldn’t deal with that shit. I was so pissed at the service, the helmet situation and now for the 3rd time of the day, I was kicked in the nuts with my cunt ass bitch of an older sister acting like a fucking fool. Oh well, at least I now knew for sure who she was as a person. Too bad for me, I forgot later on and had to be reminded many times over.

A few months later, that same cunt ass bitch of an older sister contacted me asking about dad’s will. I said I knew nothing about it but that I figured everything would go to mom. As it should. I was dealing with the death of my best friend, my father. I was not concerned about a will. Well apparently, she was, she pushed the issue and a few days later my mom contacted me and told me that my older sister was asking and I informed her that was all her and I was not concerned about it one bit. My mom informed me that we would never see the will and she was not getting it probated due to taxes and that everything was left to her so it was pointless to let us see the will and for her to file it in probate court. At the time, I was not concerned and I really didn’t think twice about it. Later, I would question everything.