Fridays with her dad

Intensely curious and intelligent, Stephen was a Massachusetts Institute of Technology scientist who relished solving problems -- whether it was determining the moon's location for the U.S. space program, understanding the workings of a milling machine, or calculating how to grow the most delicious tomatoes in his garden.

But Stephen was also a "people person" with a warm heart and twinkle in his eye. If someone needed help, he would interrupt his work to answer a question, listen, or provide a comforting hug.

In 2006, when he was in his late 60s, Stephen learned that he had liver cancer. A relative offered to donate part of her liver, but the cancer grew too fast, and Stephen was no longer eligible for a transplant. He went through some treatment but eventually decided to forgo it in favor of quality of life.

He spent his last few months at his homes on Cape Cod and in Lexington, Mass., enjoying the company of family and friends -- including his five grandchildren, whom he adored. His grandson Charlie was even quoted at the memorial service: "When Gramps held me, I felt good. Gramps was the missing piece of the puzzle that held all the other pieces together and made them whole."

Stephen's daughter, Elizabeth, visited him regularly during those final months, both at home and in the hospital. Fridays became a special day for them, a day when they'd talk alone about anything and everything. Despite his illness, he always seemed to feel better on Fridays, according to Elizabeth –- a lawyer who is currently at home with her kids.

One day, when she went to visit him in Lexington, Elizabeth realized that her dad had showered and dressed because she was coming. "Walking around the corner of the house, I saw him and thought, 'Oh, my god. This means a lot to him, too,' Elizabeth remembers. "So we sat in their back yard and had breakfast. I don't remember exactly what we talked about, but it was a really nice visit. He was such a rewarding person to be around because you felt like you mattered. You did matter."

"After that, there were several Fridays where we would talk about how he felt about dying. He was not worried about it or about us. Just very at peace."

During the last week of Stephen's life, in the fall of 2006, family members converged in the living room where his hospital bed stood. His condition wavered; on one day, he seemed on the edge of death, and family members circled around him, crying and sharing little gifts from his grandchildren. Then Stephen rebounded. For a couple of days, Elizabeth and others sorted through old photos with him or climbed onto the bed and held him. "It was so lovely," she told me. "We had so much access to him."

When Elizabeth visited her father that Friday night, Stephen was sitting up and asking for his watch; he was a precise scientist to the end. "I asked if he wanted me to build him a fire. At first he said no, then he looked at me and said, 'Yeah, make me a fire.' It was such a nice thing to allow me to do that."

Stephen passed away peacefully the next day at the age of 70, cradled by his wife of nearly 50 years, Nancy. Although Elizabeth was not in the room when her dad took his last breath, she cherishes their Friday conversations and is comforted knowing how much he treasured that time, too.

Consider this . . .
Spend time with someone who is dying.