Webb: ‘Good night. I love you. See you tomorrow. You’re the greatest dad in the universe.’

Note: This blog was written on Jan. 26, 2019, about six weeks before Dad passed away on Aug. 5, 2019.

Today brought another “shit’s getting real” moment with my Dad.

Before I get into that, I should say that these moments really aren’t what you think they’d be. At least they haven’t been for me. Granted, I’ve been fortunate to go nearly 43 years on this planet without losing somebody close. I didn’t know my grandparents all that well, nor have I been all that close to most of my cousins, aunts and uncles.

There have plenty of other moments since my father was diagnosed with cancer, including a number of kicks to the groin. I guess those are the moments I expected to be “shit’s getting real” moments.

Those include being told he had cancer for the first time, discovering it was Stage 3 esophageal cancer and receiving a text that he had six months to live. Another one came a few weeks ago when he told us he was no longer undergoing treatment and was ready to be with God.

There’s no great way to describe those moments. They’re shocking. You’re in a daze. There’s nothing you can do.

But back to “shit’s getting real.” Even through esophageal cancer, multiple treatments and a major surgery, I always held out hope my father would live for a long time. He’s a tough son-of-a-gun and always has been.

So it wasn’t a huge surprise when we found out last spring that he was in remission. He’s battled through all the other adversity in his life, why wouldn’t he kick cancer’s ass?

Even after the news that the cancer was back, this time in his bones, and that he had six months left, I figured he’d at least beat the odds and live longer. He did manage that, but the months since have been one gut punch after the other.

The first “shit’s getting real” moment came in April when he told us he was selling his house. I’ve never met a more private, independent person than Dad, so this was big news. Big enough that my wife and I ugly cried together for an hour.

Still, that powerful moment got even more real about six weeks later when Dad sold his house and moved out at the end of May. My brother, who graciously took him in for the final days of his life, told me he was taking it hard that day.

I didn’t realize just how hard until he drove down to grab a few final things while I was cleaning his place. My dad, who I’ve rarely seen cry, wrapped his arms around me, dropped his head into my shoulder and sobbed. Talk about your circle of life moment.

As for the “shit’s getting real” step today? I took a break this morning to place a couple of phone calls about getting his headstone marker engraved. Loss becomes incredibly real when you’re asking for a price quote for a marker on somebody who’s still alive.

As for the marker, that’s actually a heart-warming moment, if there’s such a thing in this ordeal. The marker he wanted to use is the first headstone that was placed on his father’s grave (the current marker is a much fancier one my dad purchased years after his dad’s death).

Dad asked that we use that marker and engrave the other side with his information and place his dad’s side on his gravesite. That way he can be with his father again. Dad always has had a sentimental side few saw.

As for the information on the marker, it includes a saying he wanted on it and one I said to him every night before bed from age 5 into my 20s:

“Good night. I love you. See you tomorrow. You’re the greatest dad in the universe.”