Dad

Sitting down to summarize someone's life is a challenging task.  Summing up the life of your parent is a job that can never be adequately done.  This being said as time passes I want to never forget my dad.  I also want my kids to know who their grandpa was.  So here it goes...

Lane W Heaps was born on February 2, 1961.  He was the second of four children (2 sisters and 1 brother).  He grew up loving sports and had a natural physical ability to participate in whatever he wanted.  He was strong and fast.  He graduated from Cottonwood High School in 1979. After serving a Spanish speaking LDS mission in Colombia, he was introduced to my mom by some friends at work.  They were married in 1983, he was 22 years old. I was born 10 months later.  My mom told me that when he found out she was pregnant they had a huge fight because he doubted he was the father.  I put his fears to rest because there is no doubt about it, I came out just like him.  With a family my dad knew that he needed to provide for us.  He quit college and followed in the footsteps of his father.  He became a police officer.  When I would talk to my dad he would rarely forget to mention his favorite memories of me when I was little. He said that I learned how to walk one day and was running the next.  He felt like he was always trying to keep up.  He also used to tell a story about one time when he was watching me all by himself and he gave me a Snickers bar.  I don't think there was much more to the story except that he would laugh and laugh over how small I was compared to the candy bar.  I must admit, Snickers has always been my favorite.  He also would always tell the story of how many times he had to give me the Heimlich Maneuver because I would choke on coins and bananas.  My little sister was born 2 years later.  He always called her "Beez".  I not really sure where that nickname came from.  They bonded over chili,  squished bread, and cold pillows.  She was always a daddy's girl.  In 1988, my parents had to bury their third daughter Marie Amie who was born premature.  Losing that baby killed a part of my father, he was never really the same.

Unfortunately, my parents marriage was less than stellar.  It was violent and scary in both directions.  They separated when I was 8 and later divorced.  He gave up the custody battle for us.  He always told me that he knew at the the time we needed to be with our mother.  In the messy processes he fell in love with a fellow cop, Roslyn.  She was always his soul mate and the love of his life.  They married in 1996 and he took in her two beautiful children Sterling and Morgan.  He always loved them as his own.

In 1999 my dad handcuffed a man during a traffic stop.  The man kicked dad in his bad knee so he punched him in the face.  The hit caused a blowout fracture to the man's eye socket.  My dad was taken to court.  If convicted Lane faced jail time.  They took away his gun and his dignity.  At this time my sister and I weren't allowed to watch tv or read the newspapers.  Dad was later acquitted of all charges but the experience broke him.  He felt betrayed and alone.  He started drinking more heavily than before as well as using.  His back problems got worst.  He had a spine fusion and quickly became a chronic pain patient.  His drug dependency encompassed all aspects of his life.  He wanted to escape the world.  He retired early and started writing articles about music in the City Weekly.  This is the last sparkle I saw from him.  He always wanted to be a writer.
 As the alcohol consumed his body I watched the father I loved disappear into a hollow shell.  It got so bad my step mom had to kick him out of her house.  From a small filthy apartment he slowly committed suicide by drinking himself to death.  I acted tough but to be honest it broke my heart.

On Saturday I got a message from my grandma telling me that Dad was in the hospital.  He had fallen down and called my aunt Cindy.  He wasn't making any sense so she called his mother who called the paramedics.  When I got the hospital I could barely recognize my dad.  He looked so frail and yellow from the jaundice.  Talking to the doctors I quickly realized how serious things were.  His liver had failed, his kidneys had failed, and his pancreas was on it's way.  They told him that he needed dialysis immediately.  It was one of those slow motion moments when I heard him tell the doctors that he wanted comfort care. They asked me and my sister how we felt about that.  The words fell from my mouth automatically, "if that is what he wants".  When the doctors left, I asked my father, "Are you sure about this dad?" He said, "I'm giving up."  It was then I fell apart.  My dad lifted up his weak arms and gave me a hug.  I want to always remember how safe his hugs always made me feel.  He was my protector.
I had a hell of a time getting a hold of people.  My step mom was in New Zealand on vacation with her sister and had her cell phone turned off.  Morgan was in Mesquite. Thankfully Nicole and my step grandma were there to carry half of the emotional burden.  The night was quiet.  It was just my dad, my sister, and I.  We decided to watch tv.  My dad wanted us to pick.  We turned on Hocus Pocus and for a moment it felt like just another Halloween night.  The nurse gave him Morphine and he drifted off to sleep.  I hugged him and told him I loved him.
The next morning  I was so relieved to see Morgan sitting next to dad.  She had gotten a hold of her mom and Ros was able to talk to my dad over the phone.  His breathing was shallow and labored. His hands were cold.  The day was spent planning out hospice and how we were going to get him to his step mom's house.  Ros's incredible friend Teresa stepped in to help us.  She was a great substitute mom and I'm not sure I will be able to thank her enough.  All of his grand kids came to see grandpa one last time.  Noah kept telling all the nurses that his grandpa was sick because he drank "ecinal" (aka alcohol).  His innocent little heart came up to me and asked if he could tell grandpa a story to help him feel better.  He went to his bedside and told him the story of Panda and the Fish that Smelled like Feet.  My little man is such an angel.

I feel that God was looking out for us, setting up things just right when it was time for him to pass.  The kids had just left, the nurses were busy, and things were quiet.  He didn't die in a van during transport.  He didn't die alone in his filthy apartment.  He was with us, all of his kids, his sister, and a few of his closest friends.  We were holding his hands and helping him move onto a place where there is no pain or misery, just peace.               
When I think back on my father I don't want to remember the pain of alcoholism.  I want to remember his intense love of music and his passion for writing.  I want to remember how he always called me sweetheart.  How he was noble in always paying his child support and sometimes paying for extras even when providing for another family.  How he always showed up to concerts, graduations, and weddings.  I want to remember the long talks we would have when I drove home from work about anything and everything.  I never want to forget the look on his face the Christmas Eve when I first met his wife or how much he would brag about having four grand kids at the age of 50.  I am so thankful for all of you who brought joy into his life especially my step mom and step brother and sister who will always be part of my family.

Dad, you will forever be in my heart.  I am so grateful that I have the privilege of being your daughter.  I promise to be happy for the rest of my long life and I promise to truly live.  I love you forever.  Until we meet again....