Dad’s Gallery

Percy E Hemingway

February 20, 1943 – November 12, 2009

On November 12, 2009 my father, Percy Hemingway passed away after a 5+ battle with colon cancer. He fought bravely, he had his down times and up times. But the last month was swift and brutal. I have heard people say that cancer is the devil’s disease, because it eats you up and literally what is left is just a shadow of that person’s former self. I  have been trying a long time to forget the image that I saw when I walked into that room. No longer was he the 6’3″ intimidating man that I knew as my father, with the smooth James Earl Jones voice and the naturally muscular frame. He was just a frail figure underneath a thin cool sheet; staring over my head at that unseen being that must have been standing behind me waiting for him to breathe his last breath.

That day I sat next to my father and the smell of death was in the air. I had dismissed my mother to take a shower and get some much needed sleep as she had been tending to him for 3 days straight with no sleep. I read to him out of the bible, I hummed songs to him and I spoke softly to him. I cried to him and I gave him permission to go on. I had only a couple hours with him that day before he passed. There were fleeting moments where his eyes registered recognition. But for the most part his gaze drifted by me. There was a moment when he caught my eye and I knew he was there with me. His brow worried and I tried to smooth it away. I told him it was okay. We would be okay, and he was gone again, staring at that space behind me.

The moments before he was to take his last breath there was a rattling in his throat and I laid my head down next to his arm and I stroked his arm. Then it became quiet. When I raised my head to look at him I realized that he was taking his last breath. I called to my mother and she rushed in, took his face in her hands and told him to go. “Go ahead Antonio,” she said. I watched him take his last breath. I watched him pass from this life.

As an artist, I have tried to explain to people, that things happen in life that can stick to you. And as much as you try to shake it off, it just won’t come off you. My father’s death has stuck to my soul. And I have sketched and painted him on numerous occasions over the last 2 years in an effort to shake that event from my soul. But when you lose a parent, especially in such a brutal way, it’s hard to shake off. The few paintings I have posted here was part of that effort, it’s only a small smattering of the numerous drawings and paintings I have done. You never get used to losing a loved one, you just grow accustomed to the empty space it leaves behind.