Dale was my son-in-law, who died on Nov. 1, 2007, when he was only 44 years old . His courage, stamina and love have left a lasting impression on me.
He came into my life through my daughter, Kim, who had been in an unhappy relationship for 17 years. During their first date, Dale, who had been in cancer remission, felt he should tell her he wore a colostomy bag. “Would it bother you?” he asked.
Kim answered, “It’s only a piece of plastic!” Love blossomed between the couple, and they were married.
The first time I met Dale, he was easy to talk to. He told me his family stories, which made me feel he indeed was a family man. Once again, I noticed a glimmer of light in Kim’s eyes.
Over the years, I saw more things I liked about Dale. They did things together. They hunted, went fishing. He was an outdoor sports man and Kim fell into the groove, as if she had always been by his side.
On Mother’s Day, Dale made it into my heart even further. Our custom is that my daughters and I take turns choosing a place to eat with the grandchildren. It happened to be Kim’s turn. Afterward, we went to Kim’s home for a combined present from my children: a ride on a three wheeler from Dale. On that ride Dale told me, “I’m doing what your daughters told me to do!” I accepted the ride as my present. It was my first and last!
Kim and Dale were married 10 years when Dale’s cancer returned. In past years he had his own construction business, but the pain he was enduring finally got the best of him. He went back to the doctor in November 2006.
In the last years of Dale’s life, he had three major operations and several minor ones. With each operation came more pain. The chemotherapy also took a toll on his body. Next, the doctor’s found bone cancer, and with radiation came more excruciating pain. Yet, he was bound he’d live.
Myself and others visited Dale, both at home and in the hospital through those years. Often, Dale was in pain. When the nurse asked him from a scale of one to 10 what level pain he was in, Dale replied, “12!” Most times his spirit was upbeat. He remembered the names of all his medications and the dosages. He was always able to tell the nurses what medication he needed and how much.
On one of my visits, I found a strange looking bed-fellow in his bed. It was a dolphin pillow, given to him by Kim’s eight year old granddaughter, Hayley, who told him, “When you don’t have Gammy to hug, you can hug my pillow.” Dale hugged that pillow often.
About four weeks before Dale died, my sister, Gladys had a massive stroke. After a time with my sister in the hospital room, I decided to quickly run upstairs and visit Dale and spend a few minutes with him. I told him about my sister. Amidst all his feeding tubes and other paraphernalia about him, he reached out his arms, “Come, I’ll give you a hug!” He cared about what another person was going through.
Another time, with tears in his eyes, he told me, “Hayley, Jillian and Nicole just stopped by to visit me. I hadn’t seen them for so long ’cause I was sick. I had to cry.” Dale loved Kim’s children and grandchildren as his own. “His girls” loved him too.
And then there were his last days with Hospice coming by, plus Kim and family staying over. I’ll always remember Dale’s last words: “I can’t leave. I love too many people and they love me!” Indeed Dale was loved. He taught me lessons of love I had never thought of.
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to everyday stories.
