Go, Get Lost in the Woods
Dad at the camper, 2017, Manastash mountain range.
No matter how hard we work and practice to perform, to get shit done, our life outside of work also happens. We can work our whole life and never live. Never belong. Or, we can belong and work, and live our whole life.
Life Outside of Work
The phone rang. “Dad and I had to take ma to the emergency room.” That’s how June started. Less than two weeks later, the phone rang, “Hey brother, I had to take dad to the emergency room.” And so, the last few months began. My dad’s fight began. And our fight alongside him.
He was going into sepsis, and he came out of it. Then we discovered, he’s also got lymphoma. And then to our relief, we found out it was non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Yes, you can find relief in a cancer diagnosis for a loved one.
But then, he got Covid. Within two days, he went from being self-sufficient, to needing help with everything. In his case, Covid left his lungs alone. Instead, it turned off his body’s ability to create energy at the cellular level and made him cloudy and foggy in the mind. One night in the hospital, he spoke to me like it was 1946, and he was selling his bike that had super big wheels.
I couldn’t help but wonder, would I get my dad back? And, phew, he came back, albeit very physically weak, and yet with his full twinkle. Keep in mind, he’d just gotten through sepsis and a very long and difficult diagnosis of lymphoma, and, was still on the up and up. Oh, forgot to mention, dad’s 81 years old. His treatment for non-Hodgkin’s would have to wait another eight weeks though, because of Covid.
After he improved enough, his cancer doc started him on radiation treatment to turn his overactive lymph nodes down. Phew (again), and it worked. It did pose a challenge though, for playing cribbage. My dad was radioactive during this treatment. That meant we all had to wear rubber gloves and avoid physical skin contact. We couldn’t touch the same deck of cards. Here’s my solution.
You see, for those we love we find ways to get through things, past the difficult stuff, for who really matters.
It’s What We Do in Belonging
We shun the words, “But we can’t…” And then we find the words, “We’ll find a way, together.” We say, “That’s my…{fill in the blank}”
For me, the words were, “That’s my dad, and there’s gotta be a way we can play cribbage while he’s going through radiation treatment. There’s a way.” And there was.
One 2x2 Cedar Pickett
One Ridgid circular saw
One 15° cut
Two people (dad & me)
One heart in belonging that cared enough for the other
Result: A way to see the sparkle in my dad's eyes, as we played cribbage during his recovery from radiation treatment.
Dad made it through radiation! The lymphoma impacts on his leg and abdomen lessened. Big sighs of relief came after a few days when we got to get rid of the rubber gloves. Even if it was only going to be for a short stint because he would be starting chemo soon. But better still, he’s finally getting his strength closer to being able to walk on his own again.
He’s had to use a wheelchair around the house because of a lack of strength and balance since Covid. He’s getting close to moving on his own!
Ugh, but then his body goes into sepsis, again. Back to the emergency room at the hospital. We’d have to pause on the start of chemo treatment now. Oh shit, what if he dies? I’m not ready for that. And we’re not out of the woods yet with dad’s health.
Back in the Woods
Somewhere around 2014, we’re hunting in the Bald Mountain area off of Forest Road 530. It’s a rather unbelievable area. There’s not too many places out there where you can see Mount Rainer, Mount Adams, and the blown-off-top of Mount Saint Helens. Dad’s been coming up here for 50 years. Me, about 47 years. It’s a wilderness area between Ellensburg and Naches, Washington.
My brother, (Todd) and I get ready to head out of camp and check out a ridge. We let dad know the general area we’re going. He tells us, “Ok, I’m gonna go on a short walk over in that direction.” “Coolio dad, see you in a while.”
Todd and I get back to the camp in about an hour and a half. We fully expected to see dad. As we’re getting close, “Hey dad, we’re back.” Crickets… “He’s probably asleep in the chair.” The chairs are empty. We each feel the concern, but we’re really trying not to show it, yet. You see, over the last year or so, dad’s developed “a shortness of breath” that the doctors can’t figure out. We’ve all just dealt with it by taking more breaks as we walk around the mountains. Should we look for him, naw, let’s wait for a half-hour more. He’s probably just poking along.
Thirty minutes pass. No dad.
Dad liked to take shots at us with a camera. 2009 Chinook Pass Area
“Ok, let’s go find dad.” We head out in the direction where dad said he was going. We do these weaving patterns so that Todd and I crisscross and report back to where we’ve been and not found him. With each hour, our worry builds. We hit 4 hours. Calling out for dad only returned the echoes of our own voices. It’s going to be dark soon. We’ve occasionally done the “fire three shots,” our distress signal. Nothing. To quell our anxiety a bit we recall our friend Peter, who was lost once. Yeah, he fired three shots. Right next to our campsite. And we start laughing, and head back towards camp, just hoping dad is there.
On the way back, guess who we cross paths with? Yep, dad. “Dad! Shit! We’ve been looking all over for you.” “What the fuck happened to a short walk over in that direction!” “We wondered if you were lost in the woods. Worried you fell or died out there?”
Dad looked at us squarely, and with a little bit of irritation. “I’m not going to get lost out here. I’ve been out in these woods for 40+ years…”
My brother and I weaseled in a, “We were worried that maybe, you fell, got hurt, were laying unconscious out there.”
With the same look, dad says to us, “Look, if I’m going to die, that seems like a good way to go. And, if that’s what I want, that’s what I’ll do.”
Todd and I looked at each other with an, ok geeze expression.
Back in the Hospital Again, oh damn, and Again
After three to four days of antibiotics, dad fights off sepsis again! And again the docs aren’t sure what’s triggering it. But damn, dad’s tough. Even better, the cancer doc gives dad the green light to start chemo the following week! We are all excited. Dad talking about taking road trips with mom. He and I are chatting again about next year’s hunting trips. His strength goes back up, again almost so that he doesn’t need assistance! His eyes twinkle.
It’s been weeks and weeks of sleep-deprived nights for my brother and me. We’ve been doing every other night, staying over at our parent’s house so that dad gets back and forth to the bathroom, table, eating, etc. Randomly, out of the blue, Todd and I’ll hug, in relief, hopefulness, and gratitude, for each other, dad, mom, our wives, and family. It’s all been so worth it. We did this for a few months while doing our vocational work too. He is an unbelievably caring marine mechanic who makes it so people can enjoy the water without worrying about their boats breaking down, and I as a coach, guiding people and companies in belonging.
We made it! Dad finally gets his first chemo treatment! Seems to be doing pretty dang good with it too. And then he didn’t. We have to get him to the hospital again. He’s going sepsis again. We know what it looks like. This time it’s different though. He’s got nothing to fight with. His white blood cells are .01. The very kind doc tells us, he’s fighting, but he’s lucky if he has 10 white blood cells in his body to fight with.
Dad’s quick downturn was a surprise. And this time, we surrounded him with love and goodbyes as he began to fade. We let mom go before us. They were in their 60th year together. I’ve only known them as mom and dad.
As my brother and I leaned over dad, one of us on each side of him, I gently said to him, “Go, get lost in the woods. We’ll find you.”
See ya in the woods dad. Love you.
Lost in the Woods
James Haury, 1941-2022
Dad saying fork-off! (while cooking us breakfast)
Thanks for taking the time to read this.
Dad never sought to take the limelight from others and outshine them. Quite content to be in the mix without having to be the mixer. And for the concoction of friendship & belonging, he was the secret ingredient. Good-natured mischief, and joyous fun, amidst deep friendship, were always accompanied by a twinkle in his eye. When you entered his presence, you were welcomed and embraced. Shortly thereafter, you knew, no…
you felt, you were his. His son, wife, grandson, granddaughter, mom, friend, and customer-friend.
Catch ya, Paul (Jim’s son)
We’re all going through life, even while we work. Don’t forget to belong and live.