R.I.P. Dad!

Name: Howard Samuel Deck
Born: February 6, 1943
Died: September 10, 2003
Cause: Cancer of lungs, liver, bones, and brain
From: Drinking and Smoking
The Story: (Read on to find out)

He started smoking 1 or 2 cigarrettes a week when he was only 15, and was drinking alcohol 1 or 2 times a week by the time he was only 18 (the drinking age was basically non-existent back in 1961). No one knew at the time how much his cigarrette and alcohol consumption would escalate over the years. He barely finished high school and never attended college. Instead, he got certifications in TV repair and electrical work (which he never did well because he was always drunk). Great life so far, right?

When I was born in 1985, he was 42. I looked up to him more than anybody in the world. I loved him more than anyone. But, sometimes he would get very drunk at his sister's house and then would drive home drunk. I was always scared, but I didn't really know what was going on, after all, I was only a baby... He did the same even after my sister was born in 1988... But he favored her... Mostly because she couldn't tell mom about how he would be drunk and yell at us or throw things at us.

By the time he turned 50 (I was 8, and my sister was 5), he had almost no will to have a life. He was laid off from his steady job, and worked only temporary jobs every now and then. My mother (a nurse) was the only one making real money in the house. He worked temporary jobs every now and then. He often lied to us about these temporary jobs anyway. He rarely showed up, and if he did, he was late, or drunk... or both.

When I was 11, and my sister was 8, he was 53 and finally got a semi-steady job at the Willow Grove Naval Base, stocking liquor on the shelves... Bad idea. He was drinking many of the bottles and coming home drunk. He was fired after only a couple months when he had an "accident" (He either fell off a ladder, or got hurt taking a photocopier down steps). But in any case, he was supposed to be out of work for 6 months while he wore the brace and used crutches. He was also supposed to attend rehabilitation for 3 months, but after a couple weeks, he DEMANDED to go home. He said he was fine. But as soon as he got home, he exaggerated the injury beyond belief. He complained of pain for the rest of his life after that too. He only used it as an excuse to not have to work, at least in the beginning he did... My mom caught him one day out to get beer, without his crutches, after he had said for weeks that he couldn't walk at all. As soon as he walked in, she grabbed the 6-packs from him and hit him in the head with one of the packs and poured them all immediately down the drain. She forbid him to ever drink again. (Which was a good thing). Before the "accident", he had been drinking at least 2 cases (48 cans/576 ounces) of beer per DAY. He had also been smoking about 6 packs of cigarrettes (120 cigs.) per DAY. While he was at the rehabilitation center, he was still so addicted to the alcohol and nicotine, that he sold almost everything he owned in exchange for them.

By this time, I was 12 and my sister was 9, he was only 54. We finally decided that we didn't want anything to do with him anymore. He was always drunk and would throw things at us and talk down to us, as well to everyone he knew. Our friends and family stopped visiting us because the couldn't stand how he acted.

I finished 6th grade when I was 12, my sister finished 3rd grade when she was 9, and at that point, he basically did not exist to me or my sister... or my mom either for that matter. We had more or less just snubbed him off. We ignored him and didn't take him anywhere, we'd go on vacation without him, we didn't even bring him to my 6th grade graduation because none of us had any real connection to him anymore. He would rather stay home and stare at the TV and wish for beer and cigarrettes anyway. He didn't even know I was in 6th grade. His brain had been so damaged from all the alcohol, that he didn't remember much of anything.

I started high school (10th grade) when I was 15, my sister was starting junior high (7th grade) when she was 12. At this point, we were SO detached from our father that we stopped putting his name down even on school papers. We'd just cross off where it said "Father's Name" and "Father's Work Number". We didn't even care. He didn't act like a father to us anyway. He was never there for us. He didn't even remember our names or what grade we were in. He would always just call both of us "Honey" so he wouldn't have to worry about calling us the wrong name.

August 2003, he was now 60. We came back from vacation to find him so sick and weak that he couldn't move from the couch. We barely even cared, we thought he was just STILL looking for pity. After 2 days, my mom finally asked what was wrong and he wouldn't tell her. She asked over and over if he wanted to go to the doctor or a hospital, but he absolutely refused and said he was fine. We finally told his sisters that he was severly sick and looked as if he would die any day. They showed up 2 days later and literally FORCED him to go to the hospital. He was diagnosed with severe cancer...everywhere. He has a collapsed lung on the left because the cancer and tar from the cigarrettes had eaten away the tissue. He had pneumonia on the right lung because it was working harder to compensate for the left lung. He had a giant tumor on his abdomen which he had refused to show to my mother, even though she was a nurse. The tumor was growing at such a rapid rate that it was incurable and inoperable. The cancer had spread through his entire body. Primarily in the lungs, liver, bones, and brain. He immediately started going downhill. He was finally released to a nursing home. They tried to do rehabilitation to get him moving again, but his left lung wouldn't stay inflated, and he was so weak from the cancer, it was hopeless. He was sent home 2 weeks later. He then went faster downhill. I couldn't stand seeing him in such poor condition. He looked like a typical cancer patient (if you've ever seen one). Each of his thighs was no more than 10 inches all the way around and each wrist was no more than 4 inches all the way around, he was so weak he couldn't move on his own, he was hooked to an oxygen concentrator non-stop, and was on about 6 types of medince, 3 of which being sopositories (placed up anus, rather than swallowed). Even though I hadn't cared about him at all for so many years, seeing him in such pain was devastating.

He died less than a week into my senior year (I was 17, my sister was 14), the day before the second anniversary of the September 11th Attacks. I had left for school at 7:00 am, mom arrived home from work at 8:30 am (she works night work), just to find him taking his "Final Breaths". He passed away at about 9 am on Wednesday, September 10, 2003. At first when I found out, I wasn't affected, he was better off now anyway. And now we didn't have to give him his medicine all the time, and see him in such agony. But within 20 minutes, I was crying uncontrollably... I couldn't help but think about him the way he used to be, and after all, he WAS my father... But once I stopped, I barely shed a single tear after that until the funeral on Saturday. September 13, 2003. By the way, I am extremely disturbed and freak out by dead bodies and even any thoughts of death. All I could do was cry and hide my view of him with a podium. My sister still hasn't cried a single tear that I know of. And my mom has cried very very few. Usually only when I was crying and it just got to her...

I still don't really MISS my father exactly... but his death has helped me realize how important he was to me after all. If it wasn't for him, I literally wouldn't have ever come to exist. He also has made me never want to drink alcohol or smoke cigarrettes (or anything else, for that matter), therefore I won't ever run the risk of getting cancer.

If you read my whole story, I appreciate it very much... honestly. I tried to keep it as brief as possible, It took me a long time to type anyway though, but it really helped me get it all off my chest. Thank you very very much for hearing me out. Peace. God Bless.

The Morals: For those of you that think that starting to drink or smoke can't hurt you: IT CAN!
            For those of you that think drinking or smoking can't affect your friends, family, or loved ones: IT CAN!

                   Make what you can out of life WITHOUT harmful substances.
                    They do a lot more to everything around you than you think they do...

Why I Wrote This: I don't want anyone else to go through everything I went through. If out of all the people that read this, ONE makes the decision NOT to drink or smoke, I will be happy to know that I possibly saved at least one family the pain and misfortune of having this kind of relationship. It hurts, trust me. Be good to the ones you love, and stay clean and healthy, it will lead to much easier and happier lives for everyone in long run.