Posted by Ann Mione Purser on June 3, 2009:

My dad certainly meant a lot of different things to different people and everyone probably remembers him in a slightly different light. To some of you my dad was an intelligent physicist, a gifted scientist and an enthusiastic instructor. To his friends from the golf course my dad was a fun addition to the foursomes, who would frequently smile at a good shot or "crimeminetly" at a terrible one. Many of you might remember him as a caring friend, and those of you who have spoken to him at length surely remember him as a great storyteller. To me personally, my dad was a loving father, a trusted mentor, a role model, a man who taught by example how to be a great husband, and one of the major pillars supporting my world. For all those reasons and many more, most simply put, my dad was and is my hero. During his last 45 days after being diagnosed April 1st with inoperable pancreatic cancer, my dad showed that he not only possessed wisdom, but that he also possessed a seemingly endless supply of serenity and courage. Through these 45 days, my dad dealt with the prospect of never knowing how many days or weeks he would have left. He wondered what to expect, and how he would feel. He expressed his only regret in life - leaving Mom behind. Dad immediately began arranging his affairs so that she would be taken care of after he was gone. And yet through it all, my dad maintained a truly incredibly loving spirit. I spent part of each one of those 45 days with Daddy - and consider those 45 days as the greatest gift of my life. Daddy did it his way - and decided to ignore futile medical options and just enjoy those days he had left. We spoke about what he would like ... a big wing-ding party or dinner with everyone, or separate visits from grandkids and friends. He chose the separate visits. During the 45 days, he had visits from every grandchild - one even coming from as far away as England. They poured in for treasured time - from New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Charleston - while two lucky grandkids live here. Whenever he had the energy he would chat with one or some of us with great enthusiasm. When he did not have the energy to chat he would always at least manage a smile, and almost always rouse himself to his feet to lay a great big bear hug on you. Dad held hands with all of us, and spread kisses around like the sawdust that spewed from his Shopsmith. I personally do not ever recall him once complaining that life was unfair to him. Instead, he frequently used the phrase "It's been a great ride!!" I was worried about the necessity of morphine use, as I discovered my own allergy to it after a recent surgery. After a violent reaction, I was paranoid about how Dad would handle it. How wrong was I! I've decided Morphine is called such because of its first 5 letters. My father did morph into something else on it -- that's for sure. But not goofy or quiet, not ill or cantankerous. During our 45 days, he became the comedian I'd never met. VERRRRRRRRRY FUNNY DUDE!! Even the simplest of things became funny, like spilling a little water when taking pills -- he'd say "No - I didn't spill it - I was just watering my chin!" For 45 days, we watched Anthony John Cosby do his schtik. A planner and thoughtful guy, my dad gave me money for birthday cards for his Peggy, insistent that if he passed before May 24th that she would have cards from him. We snuck around like adolescents trying to get those selected, signed and hidden without being discovered by his all-knowing, super-sleuth of a wife. We giggled up a storm after we pulled it off! During those 45 days, we recorded a short video for her, so that she will always have a way to see his dimples, hear his voice and listen to him tell her how much he loves her. Mom and Dad would have been married 60 years in December. Throughout my life, I have witnessed thousands of affectionate moments between them, and thought how lucky they were. The 45 days only amplified that affection. With smooches and snuggles and pats galore during those 45 days, I frequently rolled my eyes and had to chastise the two youngsters with a "WILL YOU TWO GET A ROOM?" My parents have held hands my whole life - so it was only fitting that on the morning of May 15th - and for 45 days leading up to that moment, their hands were locked together. I would love to feel sorry for our family - but I cannot. We have been blessed to have two parents longer than any other children I know. The grandchildren have all had relationships with their grandparents none of us ever experienced. Not only have we been lucky to have Mom and Dad in our lives for so long - but they have been happy and healthy. No crippling or disabling disease. No strokes or heart attacks or tragedies. I would love to feel sorry for us - but I cannot. Daddy's illness was brief, the pain controlled, and we didn't watch him suffer for months or years. I would love to feel sorry for us, but instead, feel an unbelievable rush of gratitude, that we were given the warning - the gift of those 45 days. 45 days of meaningful goodbye visits. 45 days of kisses and hugs. 45 days of stories and sweetness. 45 days of watching the truest of love stories climax with the most remarkable goodbye ever witnessed. For 45 days, he gave me reason after reason to validate why Daddy was - and is - forever my hero. Love you good, Dad.

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