Today marks four years since my dad, the late Charles Lesane Jr., has been gone. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him and my love for him. Even though his passing was imminent, nothing could truly prepare us for this loss.
My dad suffered from metastatic prostate cancer as well as renal kidney failure. However, he was a true fighter and surpassed his life expectancy. Three days a week, he would report in for his dialysis treatments and suffer through the side affects. He fought and fought through the pain and became my true hero.
I remember his last hours, vividly. Early that morning, I received a call from my brother stating that something wasn’t right and that I needed to come as soon as possible. I jumped out of bed, got dressed and headed to my father’s house. I arrived 20 minutes later, as my father lived in the next town over. Upon walking in, I literally heard my father’s breathing from the opposite end of his shot-gun house. There were many times that I had been called to the house due to my father’s illnesses and oftentimes it led to a short hospital visit, and then he would return home. However, on this particular morning, I felt something different. I began to walk down the hallway to my father’s room and it was almost as if I could smell death. My father’s organs had began to shut down and the smell was the releasing of his bowels. When I walked in the room and looked at my father, I knew that this time, things were different. I knew that even if he made it to the hospital, things would never be the same. He would never recover from “this one”, I thought. I immediately yelled to my brother to call 911.
His breathing was extremely loud and raspy as he lay trembling asking for help. My heart broke as it was very little that I could do for him. His body was twisted in a way that I had never seen before. I felt very helpless. As we waited for the ambulance to arrive, my father lay there moaning and me assuring him that help was coming and that everything was going to be okay. I remember the last words that my father spoke to me. He mumbled, “can you get me a glass a water”? Though I wanted to give him all water that he wanted, there was no way that he was even able to drink. My father fought and fought to the very last minute, and that was the last time that I saw my father alive. After the drive to the hospital, and two hours in the waiting room, we were called to the “quiet room”. There we were told that my father had passed away. They allowed us in the room where he was, to say our final goodbyes.
Despite the sadness of my story, I know that my father lived a great life. I don’t believe that people actually get over the loss of a loved one, but that we learn how to cope and press forward. A perfect man he was not, but he was my perfect daddy. If there is anything that I learned from him that I will carry forever, it is to work hard and to fight until I can’t fight anymore. My father was a man of God, who was a faithful member to his church. For the majority his working years, he worked as a truck driver. He was a great protector and provider for his family. He would always tell me to “hold it in the road”, and for whatever that means, I have been trying to do so ever since. My family and I continue to honor him and his legacy…….Sunrise: Sept 24, 1935 to Sunset: Jan 28, 2014. Rest in Heaven, Daddy!
