A Warrior facing his final battle

My father, the first warrior I ever knew, is now facing his final battle. He has fought cancer with the same strength, stubbornness, and tactical precision that defined him as a Green Beret sniper in Vietnam (’68-’71). But the fight has taken its toll. The cancer has spread to his spine, and a previously undetected mass on his C7 vertebra caused a fracture, leading to a fall that broke his arm and brought further complications. Given his condition, he is now entering hospice care.

Per his wishes, I will not be going to see him again. He refuses a "death watch" and does not want me to see him in his current state—a decision I deeply respect. My father has always been a man of strength, discipline, and control, and even now, he chooses to face the end on his own terms.

I know some may view my decision not to rush to his side as callous, cold, or unfeeling. But this is not about me—it is about honoring his wishes. To go against them, to insist on being there for my own comfort, would be an act of disrespect and selfishness. My father does not want my last memory of him to be one of suffering; he wants me to remember him as the warrior he has always been.

This is not the first time I have faced this choice. My late husband, Jay, made the same decision for our children. He wanted to shield them from the final moments, to spare them from a memory that would overshadow all others. As the only one present when he passed, I understand the weight of that decision, and I respect it even more.

Love is not measured by presence in the final moments—it is measured by a lifetime of loyalty, respect, and understanding. My father knows he is loved. And I will honor him, not by standing at his bedside, but by standing by his wishes.