On Friday, March 14th (3-14) at exactly 3:14pm, I received the phone call I have been dreading my whole life. My mother and youngest sister called to tell me that my father had collapsed, and the ER doctor found previously undiagnosed stage 4 metastatic lung cancer that had spread to his liver, lymph nodes, bones, and spinal cord. He also had pneumonia and a partially collapsed lung behind a tumor. My dad was chronically ill, so he lived for decades with severe pain. He had only recently realized this pain was different, and by then, it was too late.
My family and I packed the car and began the fastest drive of our lives to Montana. The doctor had given him 2-3 months, but none of us thought he would last that long. He was on high-flow oxygen in the in-patient cancer unit. I FaceTimed him Saturday and Sunday to let him know that I was coming and to wait for me. We made it across the country—literally—in just over two days.
Being Lent, those days of driving were my own agony of sorts as I begged the Lord to let me be with him when he died. In prayer, the Lord showed me that 3-14 was meant to guide me to John 3:14. I recognized the number as a portion of the Gospel reading for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, to which I have a deep spiritual connection: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” My dad’s crucifixion with the Lord that would pave the way to eternal life was at hand.
Early on Monday, March 17th, I made it to my dad’s side in the hospital. He was thin from rapid weight loss and in intense pain from the cancer in his back and the collapsed lung. He looked so different from the man my husband and I had sat across from five months earlier. Despite the strong pain medications, he knew who I was, as well as my husband and daughter. He told me that he waited for me.
This began the walk with my dad to Calvary for the last 6 days of his life.
The first 36 hours I was there, I barely left the hospital. I took the night shift during which I helped the nurse move my dad and care for him. I watched as my father was stripped of everything. He walked the Stations of the Cross those final days. He was unable to do anything on his own and needed the help of the medical staff and his family. I had to pray repeatedly for the strength to stay beside him despite my own fears and weaknesses. The Lord provided in abundance as I was filled with tremendous peace even though the most influential man in my life—the one who passed on the Catholic Faith to me—besides my husband was dying right before my eyes.
On the Solemnity of St. Joseph, my husband gave my dad what we did not know would be his viaticum. He had received Last Rites before we arrived, but the priest allowed my husband to bring him Holy Communion since he is an EMHC to the sick in our parish. That day, my dad surprised everyone when he no longer needed high-flow oxygen. He sat up in a chair and even ate a bit of food. His sudden improvement led to us placing him in hospice in my middle sister’s house, where she had the proper layout and facilities to care for him. We wondered if he would last a few more weeks.
Once we got him home, the struggle became more intense. Having not walked with someone to death before, I didn’t know that he was showing all the signs of impending passing. That Friday he had a really good day. He enjoyed sushi and coffee with my mom, middle sister, aunt (his sister), and me. He kept reminiscing, even though he was in a drug-induced haze and most of it didn’t make sense.
I should have known things were going to turn because he kept talking about his dad who died 24 years ago. He had missed him for so long. Now my dad was drawing closer to him than to us. The veil was becoming thin. He also grabbed an icon of Our Blessed Mother and Jesus and began talking about her. The same icon was laying beside him when he died the next day. It now sits on our mantle.
The next day, Saturday, the day dedicated to Our Lady, my dad began His Passion. We went through grueling hours of trying to calm him down and help him with the excruciating pain that came on with startling intensity. From noon to 3:00pm, my aunt and I had to hold him up as he struggled with his body shutting down. At one point, the suffering became so intense that I sat beside my father and held him close as tears streamed down my face. I said, “Dad, you’re almost to Calvary. You’re almost there.” Those were some of the last words I spoke to him while he was still conscious.
Shortly afterwards, at the 3 O’ Clock Hour of Mercy, my dad fell asleep and never woke up again. His breathing labored for another 8 hours, but the hospice nurse put him on the protocol for the last few hours of life. I now know what the death rattle sounds like.
I barely left his side for those 8 hours. I prayed and read Sacred Scripture to him. My family and I played music and sang around his bed. The priest stopped by to pray the prayers of commendation and to grant him the Apostolic Pardon.
At 10:48pm, on Saturday, March 22, 2025, my dad passed from this life. His breathing became extremely shallow, so I began praying a Hail Mary and the St. Joseph Prayer with my husband. I stroked dad’s head, and the family gathered close. As if on cue, my dad’s last breath came at the end of the St. Joseph prayer in the Month of St. Joseph. My dad left this life in the bosom of the Holy Family.
My dad was given the most provided for, beautiful, and holy death any Catholic could ask for. He died in the arms of His Heavenly Mother and St. Joseph, having been provided the Sacraments surrounded by his loved ones. This is the death we all hope and pray for.
Even though the last two weeks of my life have been the hardest, they have also been the most beautiful. There are no words for the gift of helping my dad carry his Cross in union with Christ in those final hours. I will forever remember holding my dad close as I urged him on to Calvary. What a gift to know he died in the arms of the Holy Family.
So many Catholics forget the gifts Christ and His Church extend to us as we are dying. I run into it all the time in hospital ministry and even in my own family. People don’t turn to Christ for the graces He wants to bestow on us in order to provide the strength to endure the final crucifixion and death. He also provides abundant graces to us if we standfast and do not flee the Cross in the face of our loved one’s suffering.
My advice: don’t wait! Call the priest early, when your loved one is still conscious, so they can be fully reconciled to Christ through Confession, and be given heavenly food in the Holy Eucharist, and healing strength in the Anointing of the Sick. My dad was given every grace in his final week of life, and the Lord rewarded Him with a happy and holy death.
The spiritual ministry is not over for my dad. I pray daily for his soul. I do not know what purgation may be left, and we do a great injustice to the Holy Souls in Purgatory by automatically canonizing our family members who more likely than not will spend time in Purgatory. Countless priests and friends have ministered to my father and me by having Masses said for his soul. One friend even enrolled my father in perpetual Masses for his soul. This brings me greater comfort than anything else can.
As we walk towards Holy Week, may we be drawn more deeply into the mystery of the Way of the Cross. May we ask the Lord for the strength to walk more closely with Him and with those experiencing their final Calvary. It is agonizing, but there is tremendous beauty in the suffering. My dad taught me this truth in a profound way. The Cross is beautiful.
Photo by Samuel McGarrigle on Unsplash