By late Friday morning, it was decided that my uncle would be moved to a hospice center and he would be made as comfortable as possible. He was not expected to make it through the weekend. My mom called me to let me know this. I knew I had to go up to say goodbye. I called James at work to let him know and he said that he would leave whenever I needed him to. After getting off the phone with him, I started crying. Malachi was home from school that day and noticed me crying. I explained to him and Isaiah what was going on. They immediately wanted to do something for their Papa since Uncle JR was his only brother and they knew he would be sad. They both decided to draw pictures for both my dad and my uncle. The pictures were of my dad and uncle together. It brought such joy and sadness to my heart. Even though they are young, they can understand the heaviness of the situation.
By 3pm, I was on the road. It gave me time to cry by myself, reflect on the many precious memories with him, and to pray. Prayer for comfort, peace, and for my uncle to be pain-free. I met my sister at her house and my brother-in-law drove us up to the hospice center. My mom had warned me that he was no longer able to verbally communicate, but nothing can prepare you to see someone you love so dearly be in that condition. He had lost a lot of weight since the last time I had seen him. He mostly had his eyes closed, but there were times when he would open them up and we tried let him see us. He would squeeze our hands and even though I knew he couldn't talk, he was talking through non-verbals. His 4 daughters were there along with his 2nd wife. I hadn't seen any of them in years and it was wonderful to be able to hug them and talk to them in person. After a few hours, we decided to go to my sister's house to get some rest. It was a pretty sleepless night.
The next morning I waited at my parents' house for my dad's sister to arrive. I was going to drive her up to the hospice center. My dad and mom had already left to go see him. While I was waiting, I looked at pictures of my dad and his brother. They had made some sort of smoker together and smoked a pig. These pictures showed them laughing and having an incredible time together. A true brotherly bond. I couldn't help but cry for my dad because he would no longer be able to make such amazing memories with his only brother. Their parents passed away years ago and my dad isn't very close to his sister so I couldn't imagine the hole in his heart this death would bring. After the cancer diagnosis, my dad and uncle really reconnected; they would call each other almost every day and talk for a long time. They would see each other regularly, too. They were best buds.
Once my aunt made it, I drove her to see her brother. I tried to warn her about what she was going to walk into. When we got there, he was less responsive with his hand squeezes. He was surrounded by family sharing some of their favorite memories and playing his favorite songs. I think most of us had a private moment with him to tell him what he meant to us and that it was ok for him to stop fighting. He deserved to not be in any more pain. There were times when his body would start to cool off and so we thought the end might be nearing, but my uncle is such a fighter that soon his temperature would rebound. His respirations were shallow and irregular and I would stop breathing for a moment if he didn't take a breath when I thought he should have. It was such an emotionally and physically exhausting day. Towards the evening, the hospice nurse thought that maybe he was holding out until no one was in the room. She advised us to say our final farewells and then wait in the family waiting room. Eventually, the doctor increased his pain meds, as well. But my uncle was not ready to go yet.
By 8:30pm, my dad was ready to go home. My mom had left a little earlier with my sister. I drove him home and then went up to my sister's house. That night I slept soundly. After showering the next morning, I made my way down to my parents' house. My dad hadn't heard any news and wasn't sure if he wanted to go back up there that day. I offered to call to get an update. His 2nd wife told me that he had some scary moments during the night, but his vitals were still stable. However, he looked worse than the day before and he was having more muscle spasms. She suggested that unless we felt that we needed to be there, then we might want to stay home since the day before was a great day with the family (unless you've been in this type of situation, it may be hard to understand that it could be "great", but it was wonderful to share all the memories together). My dad decided against going up and he requested that I go back home and my sister take care of her family. Before I left KC, my aunt, cousin, and grandparents came by to offer support and some hugs.
On Monday, my dad decided to go up to see him again. My mom accompanied him and my dad is so glad that he did. After Bible study that night, I heard the news that he passed away that evening. He was finally at peace. While it was expected, it doesn't ease the sorrow. There are 4 girls without their daddy, 16 grandkiddos without a grandpa, a brother without his brother, and so on.
The service was on Saturday, October 29th. James, the kiddos, and I were able to make it. This was the kiddos' first experience with death. My uncle requested to be cremated so the funeral home was filled with pictures of him along with Native American memorabilia because he was always proud of his heritage. The service was beautiful. There was a wonderful tribute written about him and they played a few of his favorite songs. He was an Army veteran and so the family was presented with a flag along with a 21 gun salute and "Taps" being played. Nothing brings tears faster than hearing that song; it reminds me of my grandpa's funeral and it represents the absolute finality of it.
My uncle made an impression on everyone he met. He was super ornery, but cared deeply about those he loved. He was generous and quite the story-teller. I loved how he called my dad by his first and middle name. Growing up, we had to make him his own pitcher of sweet, iced tea every time he came over. The last time he saw my kiddos was a few years ago when we came up for Easter. Even though he had grandkids to buy for, he still bought 3 huge Easter baskets for my kiddos. He loved to give all that he had. When I talked to him on the phone, he would call me "Baby Doll". While I'm glad that he no longer is in pain, it still hurts. He was so young to die...only 58 years old. I am so very proud to have known him and to have him as part of my family. Love you forever, Uncle JR.
Floyd "JR" Cushenbery passed away on October 24, 2011 after a courageous battle with cancer. JR was born on December 15, 1952, in Lawrence, KS., to parents, Mary Ann and Floyd S. Cushenbery, Sr., who have preceded him in death. JR proudly served his country in the U.S. Army for 6 years. He was a member of the American Legion Tirey J. Ford Post 21, and enjoyed many friends and good times there. JR worked hard for the U.S. Postal Service for 32 years, and retired in September, 2008. He liked to fish, go boating, and target practice. But what JR liked most, was to spend time with family and friends. He loved to joke around, tease people with a sparkle in his eyes, and make everyone laugh. JR was extremely proud of his Cherokee Indian heritage and we know he is now in the happy hunting ground. He will be dearly missed by his four daughters, Molly Chavez and husband William, Pam Razo and husband Bobby, Crystal Ledesma and husband John, and Kim Carr and partner Marvin Burchett. JR also leaves behind his brother Terry Cushenbery and Janice, sister Kay Cushenbery and 16 grandchildren, along with Donovan Carr, who preceded him in death, and many friends and family. Visitation is at 11 a.m., with services at 12 p.m., on Saturday, October 29, at Highland Park Funeral Home, 4100 State Ave., Kansas City, KS. May he finally be pain free and at peace with God in heaven. No one can take JR's place -- God bless him and his generous heart. 
