Dorsey: Kansas basketball coach comforts with call

When we first found out about the cancer on June 8, my mom learned she had several weeks to live. But then the weeks dwindled to days and the days were down to hours, and I was searching for a way to brighten her spirits and those of my father.

I wanted to do something to help, even though I really couldn't.

And so, I did what any other Self-serving University of Kansas basketball fan would do. I sent an email to the Kansas basketball office, hoping that someone there would forward it on to coach Bill Self.

I explained to Self, who guided the Jayhawks to the 2008 NCAA national championship, that my mother, Nancy Dorsey, was living with Stage IV triple negative breast cancer and did not have much time left to live. My parents' home sits on Emerald Drive in Lawrence, Kansas, about a five-minute walk from Allen Fieldhouse, where the Jayhawks play and not far from where my parents and I graduated.

I asked Self if he had the time to call my parents and wish them well.

For those outside of Jayhawk nation, this would be like a Catholic hearing from the Pope or an American meeting the President.

My mom, in recent years, grew to love watching Kansas basketball. Whenever I called her during the season, she would start talking about the most recent game, the players and their backgrounds. And yes, she talked often of Coach Self. Sometimes, I felt like she knew more about the team than I did.

The mother of four boys, she braved a five-year stint living in Saudi Arabia with my dad when my two youngest brothers, Todd and Kyle, were infants (I was 11 and my brother, Mark, 3, when we moved to Yanbu from suburban Houston, Texas, in 1984).

Mom instilled all sorts of goodness in us. I cannot count the ways.

"You'll thank me when you're older," she always told us. Fortunately, I had two final chances to do so before the very end, once in mid-June and again in mid-July.

Which brings us to Monday morning, Aug. 3, about two weeks after I first tried to message Self. My father, Gene Dorsey, missed Self's phone call. Self left a message. I listened to it. It went something like this:

"Hey Gene. This is Bill Self here. Sorry I haven't called sooner. I've been out of town on business, and I just got back, and I'm catching up. I heard you guys are going through some stuff. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I wanted to check in with you to see how you're doing. Give me a call when you can."

My dad called the number Self left on the voice mail.

Expecting to get an administrative assistant, instead my father heard: "This is Bill Self." He had left a direct line.

My father and Coach Self talked for a few minutes. Self gave my dad a much-needed pep talk. My father did an extraordinary job of caring for my mother during her final 60 days and throughout their 45 years of marriage. It's hard work, caring for the dying. He had help from Grace Hospice and my Aunt Barb Liberman. My father did an amazing job. It was on par with the coaching job Self managed in 2008, when Mario Chalmers made that epic, game-tying shot, sending the NCAA title game against Memphis into overtime, which ended up being a formality.

But I digress.

"Well, do you want to talk to Nancy?" my dad asked Self.

My mom, lucid at age 66 but full of sedatives and painkillers, gets the phone, realizes it's Self, and asks: "Do you know of any cleaning ladies who can help my husband?"

Her comment just provided another example of her sense of humor, even in times of great stress, and her willingness to always find ways to serve us.

I don't know what Self told her. I cannot ask my mom. Nancy Dorsey slipped into a morphine-induced slumber about 90 minutes later. She died the next day, Tuesday, Aug. 4, at 11:22 p.m., Bill Self time.

Coach Self talked to my mom more recently than I have. In fact, he was the last person outside of my parent's house to speak to her.

With the heaviest of hearts, I arrived to Lawrence for the third time in nine weeks on Thursday, Aug. 6. This time, my wife, Bonnie Dorsey, our 7-year-old son, Samuel Dorsey, and our grown daughter, Emily Stone, went with me.

We were going to have a big family reunion with my mom, who wanted her last days to be a fun-filled party. We were sorry she couldn't make it. But we felt her presence there in spirit. And we will find ways to keep her spirit alive moving forward.

Connect with this reporter: David Dorsey (Facebook), @DavidADorsey (Twitter).