On Tuesday March 23rd, while sitting in class, I received a text message from my sister Shaunna. "Have you heard, Dad isn't doing well. Mom wants us all to be at the hospital ASAP." Since my Dad got his liver transplant in 2002 and before, I've gotten used to the idea of my father being sick. He's had many ups and downs over the last seven plus years. I assumed that maybe the urgent text was a mistake and things weren't all that serious. Soon after the text, one phone call, two calls, three calls, all from family members. After leaving class I thought I'd better listen to the voicemails. It wasn't a false alarm, Dad was fading fast. I called my mother, one of the hardest things I've ever had to say came next; "Tell Dad to hang on for me, I'm coming." His kidneys were shot, digestive system shut down, heart dancing all over the place. In the words of my brother Michael, "I'm not sure what somebody needs to survive, but apparently none of those things."
I arrived at the hospital in Massachusetts Tuesday night around 11:15. I was greeted by my two little brothers whose swollen eyes and raw nose's were masked by excited smiles. I couldn't help but smile myself. They led me to my Dad's room and after giving my mother and remaining siblings a hug or two, they let Vanessa and I have some time alone with my Dad. At this point, my Father had lost the ability to speak normally. This alone brought tears to my eyes. The three of us spent some time saying whatever we needed to. I could see the frustration on my Fathers face as he did his best to say what was on his heart and as I did my best to understand. That was the first time in almost ten years that I thought, my Dad could actually die. I don't think I ever realized the severity of what was going on.
After spending the night at the hospital, we decided to bring my Father home to spend his remaining time, be it a day or a week at the house that he built. The word somehow got out that he was coming home. On Wednesday, the day he arrived home, he had countless visitors come. At one point, with all of his might, my father leaned up in his bed. "A gallery of people have come to watch me die." He said it three or four times so we could all understand it. Once we figured it out, he looked up to the ceiling and began flapping his arms like a bird. We interpreted it as him flying away to heaven. None the less, we all got a laugh out of it. Even on his death bed, my Dad was making people smile and laugh. Thursday morning, things continued to progress for the worst. Visitors kept coming, and he did his best to entertain them as well. By Friday, his condition had worsened still and we closed the doors on all visitors outside of family. We wanted to protect his dignity and make him as comfortable as possible.
On Friday, I did something I that I have no memory of ever doing. I curled up on the couch next to my Dad and I rested my head in the little spot between his chest and his arm. Though my Father was unable to speak, I know he was very glad to have his 5th child next to him. While I was lying there, I recounted many happy memories of my Father and me. I thanked him for providing for me, for loving me, for setting a Godly example. I told him everything I could think to tell him. I was finally at peace and I think he was as well. As Friday went on and Saturday came, we all took the time to say everything that we hadn't said yet. We all came to a place where we would have no regrets if he had to go.
On Saturday night, before I went up to bed, I told my dad that I loved him. I knew in my heart it was the last time I'd be able to tell him that to his face while on this earth. I kissed him on the cheek and went to get some sleep. That night, so many thoughts flooded into my mind. Sleep was impossible. I asked the Lord for healing. I prayed, "If you are going to heal my Dad, please do it soon. If you are not going to heal him, set him free from the pain and release him from the shell that he is in now so that he can be with you." I had such a peace about whatever God would decide to do.
My father battled, never quit, never blamed anyone, and never shook his fist at God. He never complained. On Sunday morning and 10:15 ET, My Father went home to be with the Lord. You can't prepare yourself for what that is like. Even if you have a few days to see the reality of the situation, there is nothing you can do to prepare for the weight of when it happens. It was and is extremely difficult. My family is so amazing. God gave my Mother seven children for this time. We all rallied around one another, we lifted each other up. We loved one another like I have never seen. My Dad is proud of that, I know.
On Tuesday March 31st, a memorial service was held in his honor. The church where it was held was not big enough to accommodate all who came to honor and remember him. He was honored that night by all of his children, his grandchildren, his father, his brother, his friends, and most importantly, his wife. In all, almost 700 people came to honor my Father. The Campbell Clan of Scotland is notorious for family and for pride and respect. Our motto is Ne Obliviscaris which translates to "Never Forget." I/We will never forget his life, the way he loved us, and his courage and strength even in death. When I say my Dad is my hero, I mean it with all my heart. If I am half the man my Father was I will consider myself fortunate.
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