An Irish Wake

Eric and the Delaney Boys

A light went out in our lives. Eric's cousin, Chris, lost his struggle with cancer. Although he'd been sick for several years, the final stage was amazingly fast. It was a fight to the end. Three weeks earlier he was still up and around and we all went out to breakfast. Chris was in a lot of pain, but his mind was sharp and his legendary sense of humor was still in tact.

The last couple weeks were brutal but mercifully short. After a brief stint in the hospital he was sent home for his final days under the care of his sons, seventeen and twenty years old. They were kids when their father became ill. Now they are men, albeit young and broken-hearted men. These two guys took turns taking care of dad while juggling their own lives and commuting two hours to his place. Sam had two part-time jobs and Max was still finishing high school.

When Hospice entered the picture in the final stage they weren't too sure about these arrangements, but what could they do? It was the best situation for Chris. The boys did it all, the feeding and cleaning and administering pain medication. They stepped up in ways a lot of people wouldn't or couldn't. We are so proud of them.

The Sunday before Chris died Eric visited with him and he was still lucid, but aware he was running out of time. Chris asked about his oldest son, who lives in Texas and his brother, Robin, who lives in D.C. When would they be here? He needed to see them. They weren't scheduled to arrive for a couple weeks. Chris insisted they needed to get here sooner, so they did. His son, Christopher, arrived the next day, joining his brothers in a harrowing time. Robin arranged a flight for Thursday.

On that Wednesday the boys said Chris was taking a turn for the worse and we should get there soon. We got to the house early afternoon Thursday. Robin arrived from D.C. about an hour and a half later. Max was in school and would head up afterwards. Chris was really suffering. The guys all agreed that when Max got there they would try to convince Chris to let go. It was time. They surrounded his bed and told him how much they loved him. Three sons, one brother, one beloved cousin. At 5:50 p.m., less than an hour after Max arrived, in the living room of his white, clapboard cottage, Christopher Day Delaney took his final breath.

Irish immigrants who worked in the railroad industry in upstate New York, the Delaneys had an indelibly sad story two generations back. In another white, clapboard house Chris and Eric's grandmother died in childbirth. The baby was lost as well. As was the Irish tradition there was a wake at the house. The remaining children, Eric's mother and Chris's father and another sister, all under ten years of age, were locked in a bedroom upstairs with a fifth child- a toddler. During the wake the toddler choked on a marble and died. The children frantically banged on the door to no avail. They weren't heard.

 In a matter of days, Chris and Eric's grandfather had lost his wife and two children. He was never the same. Eric's mom was farmed out and raised by her aunt. The other sister was also raised by family members. Chris's father stayed with his Dad, who was haunted by the demons of his loss. It was not an ideal childhood. Perhaps as a reaction to the chaos, Chris's father became a military man.

Perhaps as a reaction to HIS upbringing and as an adaptation to the times, Chris became a rebel. Flaunting authority, flirting with danger. Chris was responsible in ways and a very hard worker. He was a practical man and got the job done, but he liked his recreation and it got the best of him at times. His cancer was lifestyle cancer. Such a shame.

Chris Delaney was a concrete form supervisor and buildings he worked on stand all around the country. His last project was the parking structure at San Jose airport. When the interferon treatments made him too sick to get to the job he managed it from his apartment which became command central. Eventually, he could no longer work and had to go on disability. Two years ago he went in for surgery and they took out part of his liver. Surviving the surgery was not a given.

 Chris knew how much he was loved. The entire family trooped up to Sacramento the night before his operation. We had a huge dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Chris and Eric and Robin told some great stories which I videotaped. Three generations waited for hours at the hospital, nervously playing games and waiting. The surgery went better than expected so Chris had more time. Still, it's never enough. 

The service for Chris was held on St. Patrick's Day at St. Patrick’s cathedral. Eric was incredibly brave and gave an emotional eulogy that was perfect for Chris. There was a wake with corned beef and cabbage and a slide show that had everyone bawling.

 It's been four months now and it's still sad but we try not to think about him. I so miss the way Chris made Eric laugh. Sam turned twenty-one and Max graduated from high school, the first of many milestones without a father. The boys have a large and loving family on their mom’s side. They obviously have more than enough guts to succeed in life. They’ll be alright. So will we.