The moment I let my guard down and start to relax about my father, I'm shown how frail the human body is. And even though he is the strongest person I know, he too will die.
My fathers cancer is worse. He has small cell stage 4 lung cancer that has metastasized everywhere. The doctors just told us that he now has yet another tumor on his diaphragm. The chemo has basically fucked up his bone marrow and he's suffering from fainting spells because he's so anemic. They are thinking of switching the kind of chemo he's getting and the time off they hoped for is now gone.
We all know that he's terminal but the slow degrade is... well, I can't even put into words the millions of emotions I feel when I think about it and when I try not too. No matter how hard I try to live normally it's always there peeking into my thoughts.
When people ask how he's doing I usually tell them that the tumors are shrinking, but they always are. And they will always come back. There is no cure for him. We are just buying time.
I'm greatful for the extra 6 months we've had and I'm glad to be able to spend another holiday season with him. But it only flashes in my mind that one day, one holiday season, he will be gone.
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I'm so sorry to read this post, I can only imagine how overwhelmed you must feel. Sending my thoughts and prayers your way...
ReplyDeleteI'm laying in bed in the early gray of a cold morning watching the incense on the living room table burn to the sky in snaking, active tendrils. Without purpose and yet full of intention.
ReplyDeleteAnd I still ask myself what there is to know about the imminent expiration of human life that will make its universal mutability any less difficult to embrace.
And yet: in the words of our dearly departed Megan, "Nobody can be ready, honey. How can we be ready for something we don't know?"
I love you to bits, Jenny.