I’ll be completely upfront with you here, it’s really tough to write about my dad. Some of you may or may not know that he died 20 years ago. That was one of the saddest days of my life, the worst day came a few months later when my depression was getting worse as I grieved deeply for him. But let’s go back….
My dad was raised in Northern Virginia (just like my mom) in the Lake Barcroft neighborhood. His childhood was very different from my mom’s. He grew up in a HUGE house with his three older sisters. My grandfather owned a lumber yard called Pentagon Lumber Company, and he was making pretty good money back in the 50s & 60s.
From the stories Dad would tell, he had a pretty nice childhood, my grandparents doted on their four kids. My dad struggled in a lot school, especially high school. I’m pretty sure he had an undiagnosed form of dyslexia, so school wasn’t easy for him. At one point he was sent away to military school to discipline him into doing better in school. It didn’t work, but it did “scare” him a bit. One story he told us was the day he and his fellow cadets/classmates were eating lunch in the mess hall, when a blood curdling scream came from the kitchen. All of a sudden the door flew open and the very large cook came running through the mess hall with a meat clever over her head, screaming….and chasing a rat! He said the entire room went silent at the first scream, and on the following scream you could hear all the forks hit the plates. After that he would only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for meals. And He never ate chicken or pork after that. He’d only eat turkey on Thanksgiving, other than that poultry was off the table for him.
The upside of growing up around a lumber yard was the exposure to carpentry, which was my dad’s vocation for the rest of his life. He did everything from building houses to building additions to building decks. When he was 38 he blew out his back and developed neuropathy in his left leg and foot — I actually have the same issue. He said after surgery that when he stood on a ladder he’d have to look down to make sure his foot was actually on a rung. That’s scary stuff! He wasn’t quite the same after that surgery. Prior to the back injury he did installation of attic stairs for Hechinger. Post surgery, he just couldn’t lift them over his head, so he moved on to installing doors and windows. Work was sparse, which I think distressed him as he felt he couldn’t provide enough for his family. On a positive note, he was home for Joey, Jimmy and I when we got home from school most days. I don’t know many kids that get to have their dad home with them or at their weekday sporting events. But Dad rarely missed a game, and if he did it’s because another sibling was playing at the same time on a different field.
Most people probably remember my dad as Coach Leckert. My dad started coaching baseball when Joey started little league at six or seven years old. Anyone remember those stupid metal pitching machines that would jam? Yep, that’s when the baseball obsession started with the Leckert family. He coached all three of us. He taught us how to bat, catch a grounder or fly ball, and how to throw (and make it sting when the ball hits the glove). I mostly rode the bench. He told me once that he sat me out because Jimmy (who was on my team) was a better player (he definitely was), and he didn’t want to show favoritism to his kids (btw I played right field, I sucked at little league baseball, and yes, I looked for 4-leaf clovers in right field. I will say that I did get better when I started playing softball though). I seriously can’t remember a time that we weren’t at the baseball field for practice or games. There was even a year or two that mom and dad coached a team that none of us kids were on! Dad was a good coach. I think he passed that skill onto Joey and Jimmy. Joey has coached for Fairfax High School for a few years, and from what I understand he’s amazing at it. So that’s super cool!
But I digress…Dad wasn’t easy to please either, he had a short fuse at times which was scary to us kids. However we were his biggest priority. As you know, my mom didn’t have the greatest upbringing so she was not “warm” in the sense that when you didn’t feel well that she would comfort us. Nope. If I had a headache, she’d say, “go take an aspirin and lay down.” Dad on the other hand would get the aspirin, water and a blanket for you. He’d fix a ginger ale if your stomach was upset too. When I was 21 I had my tonsils removed and had a very rough go of it — I’d sit in place with my hands over my ears rocking and crying. At the time I was living with my grandmother, who did not drive. At 6am one morning I starting coughing up blood. I immediately called my parents, thank God Dad answered the phone. But I couldn’t talk! Somehow he knew it was me….”Barbie? I’ll be there in 5 minutes.” My grandmother lived at least 15 minutes away. But he was there in a flash, and rushed me to the emergency room — I was extremely dehydrated. I don’t even know if he had an installation job that morning. He dropped everything to be there for me. This was not the first time either.
Dad set clear rules for respect, but when Joey, Jimmy and I hit our teen years, we pushed those boundaries. I did it with a lot of sass and “back talk.” Joey with partying and drinking. Jimmy with sneaking around smoking and drinking — yeah, he never got caught either. At one point Dad even put a sign up by the back door of our house that said “Warning: Teenagers Live Here” almost like a Beware of Dog sign. But with the teen years came the struggle to discipline us. Mom wasn’t around as much because she was working, so that left Dad in charge. Jimmy was grounded all the time because of his grades in school. I was being lectured frequently for cussing and mouthing off. Joey and Dad seemed to bicker a lot too. Needless to say there was a lot of tension in our house. I remember thinking at the time that he was too hard on us, and why did my mom put up with his moodiness? Now that I’m older (and more mature) I believe my dad suffered from Depression. He just seemed so unhappy most of the time. There were times when he’d could be found sitting in the dark, just sitting, no lights or TV. He’d take naps every day. And the short fuse. The bursts of anger. The times he seemed more like a recluse. Other than his friend, Hugh, and my cousin, Mike, he really didn’t socialize with anyone. Well, except for mom and us kids. Maybe my brothers have a different take on Dad, but I relate to a lot of his behaviors because I struggle not to do those things all the time. Depression can be hereditary too.
I think, like me, he struggled daily just to get through. Some days were good. Some not so much. I really wish he had gotten help for it because when he was having a good day, he was a lot of fun to talk to and to be around. Unfortunately, he wasn’t affectionate. Neither of our parents were. His way of showing his love was through Acts of Service. He was a caretaker. He helped all 3 of us pick our first homes and did work on them for us too. Joey and I got new windows installed, Jimmy got a deck, and countless other things that he helped with. When he was installing the new windows in my first house, he was struggling with a cough. Since he never got sick and this cough wouldn’t go away, he finally decided to go to the doctor. He was diagnosed with Bronchitis. A month later the cough was still there and slightly worse. So, the doctor sent him for x-rays. This was around 1997 and doctors had to wait for the film and reports to come in. My dad waited for more than a week, when he finally called the doctor to find out what is going on. Oh, yeah, we meant to call you….we’d like for you to see a surgeon. WTF?!?! They wanted Dad to have a biopsy of his lungs. Obviously they saw something on the x-ray. My dad’s sister, Marion, jumped into action contacting a close family friend of hers who specialized in stomach cancer at NIH. He referred my dad to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore to a doctor that specialized in lymphoma. So, Dad and Mom headed to Baltimore to have my dad examined….within the hour after they arrived my dad was being admitted for surgery the next day. They were going to biopsy a lymph node in Dad’s neck.
Sure enough, it came back as cancer. Hodgkin’s Lymphoma to be precise. We didn’t know what the hell that meant. The doctor seemed optimistic about his prognosis, he had a grapefruit sized tumor on the face of his lungs. But a few weeks of chemo then radiation and all would be good. And it was…for about a year. The tumor shrunk to microscopic size, he was re-growing his hair and regaining his strength. Every 6 months he had to do a PET (Positron Emission Tomography) Scan. First 6 months, no sign of the cancer. All is great! Next scan six months later, uh oh, it’s back. This time the doctor decided to biopsy his lungs. So in early February 1998 they went in through his side, between the ribs to biopsy his lung. A few days later, it was Valentine’s Day — John and I stopped by to visit after having run errands for mom and dad. John went in and asked Dad for my hand. Dad came out of the bedroom where he had been recovering, walking very slowly and carefully, came into the living room with a “cat that ate the canary” grin on his face. He knew something before my mom. John and I were engaged!
And a week later Jimmy married Jane! He was so happy, but in tremendous pain for these two occasions. I remember at Jimmy’s wedding, Dad and Mom would “disappear” for a few minutes to give my dad a breather and so he could take a pain pill. But he stayed for the whole reception despite the pain.
Once he was “healed” from his surgery, he would have to undergo a Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT). Thank goodness his sister, Marion was a match. Interestingly, his other two sisters, Mary Ellen and Joanne matched each other. Anyway, Marion didn’t even think twice about giving her bone marrow to him. So, before the transplant can happen, they had to give him really high doses of chemo which took his immune system down to nothing. He had to live at the hospital during this time. He was there for 6 weeks. Since the hospital was in Baltimore, it was tough for us to visit him, but we all tried to see him once or twice a week. After the stay at the hospital my parents rented a furnished apartment a few miles from Johns Hopkins. Mom got a 2-bedroom so that people could come stay overnight with them. I believe they stayed there for 6-8 weeks. So, by the time Dad came home it was at least late June, I believe.
Well, wouldn’t you know it, John and I were getting married in August. So during his time living in Baltimore, I would haul invitation books, magazines, etc. to the hospital hoping Mom would help me pick things out. Nope. Dad did. He picked our invitation. Helped with the wording. It was probably a welcome distraction for him, but it sure made me feel cared for and loved. I liked having him involved and helping us make decisions. I can’t say that the day was perfect (another post for another time), but it was a fun celebration. I think my parents had a great time too!
And everything seemed good for a while. Dad was in goodish health. Jimmy and Jane had a new baby in March. John and I decided to move to the boonies of Virginia (Bealeton). So, we sold our house in Fairfax City and moved into my grandmother’s basement during construction. We lived with her from December to May. Then it was time to move in…
On our first weekend in the house, Mom and Dad came by to bring some things out for us. While we stood in the garage talking, John started asking Dad some questions. No answer. It was like he didn’t even hear what John was saying. So, I asked him, “Dad, you going to answer John’s question?” He looked at me surprised. He was clearly confused. He didn’t even realize John had been talking to him. Quickly after that, Mom decided to take him home thinking he just needed a rest.
The next day Mom called me to ask if my dad could come stay with John and I for the week since we had taken off of work to unpack and settle in to our new home. She had to go out of town for a business trip and was worried to leave Dad home alone. So, the plan was for us to pick him up in the morning around 9am (she was being picked up for the airport at 8am and didn’t want him home alone for more than an hour). John and I spent the day unpacking the guest bedroom and putting up window treatments so Dad would be able to have his own space. Early, I want to say around 7am, my sister-in-law, Marilyn called to tell me that she had just spoken to my mom that she and Dad were at Fairfax Hospital in the emergency room and that I did not need to come pick up my dad that morning, and Mom would call when she had more information. Ok, we’ll just work on unpacking some more. Within an hour my brother, Joey called to tell me that he heard from Mom….Dad had a Gran Mal Seizure and they had to intubate him. Mom will call later once they know something. No one in my family had ever had a seizure, so I freaked out after I got off the phone with Joey. I told John we HAD to go now to the hospital. So we rushed to the ER. The nurse immediately let us go through to see Dad. When we got to the triage room he was in, it was a terrifying sight. My big, strong dad was unconscious with wires and tubes coming out of him, blood around his mouth, hands swollen, face swollen. My mom wasn’t in the room with him. As I started to walk through the sliding glass door into the room, John grabbed me and said, “You can’t go in there.” Confused, I said “Why?” “That’s not your dad.” I admit I certainly had my doubts that it was him too. So, I walked over and checked his hospital ID bracelet. Sadly, it was him. Back then you couldn’t make cell phone calls in a hospital, you had to go outside. I needed to find my mom. I had to know what the hell was going on. Well, we ended up finding her coming back from the cafeteria. She needed some coffee. Come to find out they had been at the hospital waiting to be seen since 1am.
As you can imagine, my mom was extremely emotional, but not necessarily because of the seizure and having been in the ER waiting room for several hours. She was overwrought because of the things that had transpired through the night. Firstly, when she and Dad went to bed, it was rather uneventful. She had packed to leave the next morning, explained to Dad that I’d be coming to get him around 9am, then they went to bed. Lights out. They laid there in the dark with one another for about an hour. Finally, she asked him, “Are you awake?” He was. So, they started talking about why they couldn’t sleep. He told her that “He says you need to take me to the hospital.” Confused she asked, “Who is He? Is it your Dad?” “No. No it’s not my dad. I don’t know who he is. But he says we’re running out of time. And you need to take me now.” Obviously concerned and confused, Mom kept asking questions. Then all of a sudden Dad started speaking to her in tongues. She said it was as though someone took over his body and was trying to speak through him to her. She firmly believed it was an Angel. After this encounter she called a nurse friend of hers to figure what to do. Her friend advised her to take him immediately to the ER. “What do I tell them is the reason that he needs to be seen?” Finally the two decided to tell the nurses and doctors that he was having bowel and stomach trouble. This explains the long wait in the lobby of the ER. Six hours is a long wait for sure. All the while my dad kept pacing and telling Mom that they needed to “hurry up, He says it’s taking too long.” And when they finally took him back to triage, he had a Gran Mal Seizure.
He spent several more hours, unconscious in the ER until a bed became available in the ICU. I don’t remember how long he stayed in the ICU, but once he was conscious again and they could remove the tube, he was taken to a lower floor with a regular room. For six weeks they ran tests on him trying to figure out what was happening. He had a team of doctors working together: an Oncologist, Pulmonologist, and Neurologist. I remember going with him to the different departments for tests, especially Pulmonology and Neurology. In the Neurology Department, they hooked him up to a bunch of wires to monitor his brain waves while flashing lights (like strobe lights), trying to trigger another seizure. I guess they were trying to see if it was Epilepsy. It wasn’t….
Come to find out after all those weeks of testing, the cancer had spread to his brain. He had been having seizures for a few months apparently. The little “space outs”, like when he didn’t hear John ask him a question at our house in early May, were mini seizures. He had lesions on his brain. He now had Non-Hodgekins Lymphoma. Apparently, just before his Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) the medical staff had found cancer cells in his bone marrow. But they had hoped they had “killed” the cancer cells with the high dose of chemo just before the BMT. It didn’t.
I don’t think I will ever forget what he said when they told him that there was nothing more they could do for him. They were pretty much out of options, except for some experimental drug that could possibly “buy” him 3 more months. “How long do I have to live?” “Mr. Leckert, we don’t like to speculate.” “Give me a ballpark.” “Six months.” “So, you’re saying, I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. [nod from the doctor] Then I want to go home now.” Sixty minutes later we had him packed up, papers signed and left the hospital. Mom and I were taking him home.
By this point, I had cut my hours at work and moved in with my parents to help take care of my dad. I felt awful every time I left the house. One particular evening I had committed to a girl friend who was a wedding photographer that I would help her photograph an evening wedding, then afterward I would go home to John in Bealeton at our new house. I hated being at that wedding. Then on the drive out to our house, I cried the entire time because it finally hit me that my dad was going to die very soon. When I walked through the door, John found me inconsolable. I felt guilty that I didn’t go to Mom and Dad’s house after that wedding. However, Mom later told me that she and Dad had a wonderful evening just being alone together.
It seems like after that night things moved rapidly. The “mini” seizures came more often — they were like a “space out” moment or two for him, then he’d “snap back” into consciousness. There was nothing that could be done while he was having one, you just had to wait for it to pass. One particular morning when Mom and I were taking turns getting ready for work — I had already dressed, so Mom was upstairs doing her thing while I was watching the morning news with Dad — he had a seizure. I’ll be honest, I didn’t notice it. Well, it just so happens at that moment one of my dad’s sisters came walking through the door. Of course she noticed immediately that he was having a seizure. After it passed she sought out my mom and told her that I should not be allowed to spend time with and take care of my dad, that I was causing his seizures, and I should be kicked out (she may have said it slightly nicer). That was a knife in my back for sure. I called Joey right away (crying) and told him what our aunt had said. Well, he took care of it. I believe he called one of our other aunts and told her that I had every right to be there, that it was my FATHER. We didn’t see our aunt for more than a week after that. She would call to talk to Dad and check in, though.
One Saturday Mom went to the grocery store and left me in charge of Dad. Well, you have to understand that his brain was making his eyes play tricks on him. He became obsessed with the furniture being “poofy” (his word). His brain had him convinced that the furniture was inflating and going to blow up. “Come on, Barbie, we have to get out of here! The couch is going to blow up! Come on!” Well, he also couldn’t walk very well, he staggered and kind of ricocheted off of the hallway walls. My mom was gone for an hour or so, and I could not get him to understand that everything was ok. Finally, I gave in to him, and took him out to the back porch to sit in the shade. Wouldn’t you know it, no sooner than I got him in a seat and settled, Mom backed in the driveway, right up to the back porch (we always used our back door, rarely did we use the front entrance). “What is he doing out here?” I tried to explain to her that he was in distress about the furniture being poofy and going to blow up. She coaxed him back in the house while I unloaded the groceries. The three of us were in the kitchen and he was convinced that Mom and I were lying to him. This had been going on for at least 20 minutes or more since Mom had shown back up! At that point, Mom and I started to lose it, we couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. RING, it’s the phone. Dad happened to be standing next to it and snatched it off hook and answered it. “Mom? Mom, Marion and Fran are lying to me.” I was hauling as up stairs to answer the other receiver, and when I heard him say this, I started laughing again. It wasn’t his mother on the phone, it was actually his sister, Marion. (I’m not sure who was Marion in his brain at that moment because I look nothing like her, but I digress.) And in the background on his end you could hear my mom trying to get the phone away from him. My aunt Marion was not pleased, she thought we were making fun of him. We definitely were not making fun of him, we were laughing at what a comedy of errors this had become and how 2 grown women couldn’t handle him in this situation.
Even today, I find humor in this story. It was so absurd at the time. I just couldn’t get him to understand. He was very childlike at this time. There was an innocence and sweetness to him. I equate the 6 weeks he was home before his death as a rapid Alzheimer’s. You see, the lesions were making his brain “misfire” on input, the world around him was distorted. One afternoon I was sitting with him in his room, and he kept looking at me when he finally said, “I’m related to you right?” “Yes, I’m your daughter.” Then he looked at my mom for confirmation, and she said, “Yes, this is Barbara Ann.” He looked back at me and said, “Barbie, I can’t remember your name!” He was so upset about this, and kept repeating over and over, “Barbie, I can’t remember your name.” In his defense and mine, Barbara Ann is only spoken when I’m in trouble, I have never gone by Barbara in my family. So, he did remember my name, he just didn’t understand that he did. Misfire. On another occasion I was sitting on the couch in the livinf room holding his hand, when John walked in. Dad looked at John and said, “Where’s your wife?” “Dad, I’m right here.” He was mortified that he didn’t remember that John and I were married. Another misfire.
There were some precious moments too. At the time he got sick, my niece, Maddie was just a few months old, and he adored her. One Sunday evening we were all there for dinner (even before he got sick we ate Sunday dinner regularly at our parents, it was tradition), I had taken Maddie into his room to visit with him. He kept saying, “Hi, baby. Hi, baby.” And Maddie being one of the cutest babies just smiled and cooed. At least until she puked. As an aside, Maddie was a bit of a “projectile vomiter” when she was a baby (she had acid reflux or something), she could hit you 2 to 3 feet away. Needless to say, she projected onto my dad. He didn’t even notice. But he did notice me trying to clean his arm. “What are you doing?” “Oh, the baby spit up on you.” “Did you puke on me, baby?” He must have asked her 20 times, of course being a baby she just smiled. It was an oddly sweet moment. He sure did love his grandbabies, at the time he only had three: JT, Christian and Maddie.
Less than a week after this, it was time to call in Hospice. The seizures were coming more frequently, he had stopped eating for the most part, and he didn’t seem to understand what was going on around him. Friday, my cousin, Kevin stopped by for a visit. I don’t know what they talked about, except when Kevin stood up to leave, he went over to my dad to say goodbye (I think they may have hugged), and he said, “I love you.” “I love you too.” And those were the last words my dad ever spoke. He laid down and slipped into a coma.
About an hour later, Hospice delivered the hospital bed which we set up in the living room. All hands on deck moving furniture around, aunts running errands for medications (morphine) and depends (people still urinate when in a coma by the way). Then Jimmy comes in after working all day….I don’t know how Jimmy did this and in my mind I can see it clear as day, and it still breaks my heart. Jimmy picked up and carried our dad from the regular bed he was in down the hall, around the corner, and placed him in the hospital bed. I cannot imagine the physical strength it took to do that, but even more the emotional fortitude. He carried him like a baby. Remember, my dad was 6′ 3″ and his weight was very low at this point, but he was still probably 170 lbs or more. That’s not light or an easy thing to do.
Saturday was one of the most beautiful days I think our family has ever had. Every family member who lived in the area came to visit. And the food people brought. We got a LOT of ham. My Aunt Garnett made sure everyone ate. Of course, Dad was in a coma so everyone would take turns just to go stand by him and hold his hand. Those that weren’t in the living room could be found outside, visiting, telling stories, reminiscing. It was beautiful! As the day grew into night, everyone departed except for Joey, Jimmy, John and me. Joey and Jimmy slept in Dad’s room, one on the bed the other in the recliner. John and I slept in the dining room where the living room couch had been moved. And mom was upstairs in her room. I think the only reason any of us slept was from pure emotional exhaustion.
At 6am I was startled awake by my mom, who was screaming, “Barbie! Barbie!” I jumped up and ran in to the living room to see her standing over him, she looked at me and said, “He’s dead.” Then I screamed for Joey and Jimmy. Mom left the room as Joey, Jimmy, John and I stood around the bed just looking at him. I went to reach down to touch his hand when he suddenly exhaled! We all jumped back at least a foot! We did not expect that. Our mom had to explain that his body had to release the air, but he was no longer breathing. He was gone. He was 51 years old.
Joseph Theodore Leckert, Jr.
April 13, 1949 – July 23, 2000