Life In the OC (That’s Oneida County)

It seems like boobs are filled up with music.

Hey, folks. Not the best new year so far. I’m kinda’ down. Promise me it won’t bring any of you down, though.

As you can tell based on the header for this entry, today is January 2, 2005. Eighty-eight years and one day ago… It was January 1, 1918.

So a couple years ago, he found out he had stomach cancer. It seemed he was prepared to die, but the doctors convinced him he could easily live another ten years if he had the surgery.

He had the surgery.

I rushed to see him the day he got back from the hospital. I remember eating spaghetti with him and him getting yelled at for putting too much crushed red pepper on it.

A few months later, he started having trouble walking. We took him in for physical therapy. He got better.

A few months later, he really started having trouble walking. He couldn’t live at home anymore. The man I had always seen as invincible could no longer walk. The man I had always seen as invincible could no longer help his family. The man I had always seen as invincible now had to have round the clock care.

A few more times, he was brought in for surgery. A few more times, physical therapy was tried. I remember after seeing him after his first surgery. I remember him saying, “I never thought I’d end up like this.”

Thanksgiving, 2004. He moved away. Christmas, 2004, we were told he’d be lucky if he made it to his birthday, January 1.

He did. And he made it to Easter. And he made it to Father’s Day. And he made it to July 4. And he made it to Veteran’s Day. And he made it to Thanksgiving. And he made it to Christmas. And he made it to his next birthday.

There was a party for him. His family was there. And that night, January 1, 2005, he died in his sleep.

His name was Dan Bucenec. He is survived by his wife, Kris, His Daughter Jean and her Husband Stan, his son Dan, his grandchildren, Alex, Holly, and me, Dan.

I regret wholeheartedly that I did not get to go to the party yesterday. I had intended on visiting today to make up for it. I regret that I didn’t get that chance.

But in my father’s words, “He seemed fine and dandy yesterday.” To me, it seems that yesterday was one of the happiest days of his life. His family was there to give him an eighty-eighth birthday party. He may have died in his sleep, but I’m sure he died as the happiest man in the world.

I miss him already. I’m going to miss him everyday. I want to strive to live my life like the man I had always seen as invincible.