Well, this is it. The first post on a new blog. Unfortunately, it's not one of those inspiring and gushing posts about how wonderfully I am going to kick 2014 in the ass and be better than ever.
No.
This post is about something completely different. This is a post about struggle, pain, sadness, love, loss, life, death, heartache, and trying to muddle through it all without an instruction book.
Today is Friday, January 10th, 2014. We are officially 10 days into a new year and it already SUCKS GIANT ROTTEN DONKEY TESTICLES! I'm not saying this in a humorous and entertaining way. I'm being honest and sharing the raw horror and pain that my year is starting out to be. A year that is almost guaranteed to be one of the hardest years I have had to make it through, thus far.
As I type, I'm sitting beside one of the strongest, most stubborn and wonderful men I will ever have the opportunity to meet in my entire life. This man is my father. At the same time I say he's my father, the man I currently sit next to is not. This person is a mere shadow of the greatness my father has always been in my eyes and it is FUCKING KILLING ME.
He is sleeping and struggling right now. He's struggling to breathe and struggling through an unimaginable amount of pain. He's struggling just to survive for one more day. One more minute.
He's dying. Right before my eyes. It's breaking my heart. And everyone else's.
My father has been battling Soft Tissue Sarcoma for the last 3 years. He's been through chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, more chemo, more radiation, hospital stays, more chemo and radiation, more hospital stays, and now we sit in the Hospice House wing at Bayfront Medical Center just waiting.
We aren't waiting for a miracle. We aren't waiting for an appointment. We're just waiting. We're waiting to see what happens. We're waiting to be here when he asks for anything. We're just..... Waiting.
And it sucks so bad.
There are so many emotions and thoughts running through me right now and I can't type fast enough to get them out.
I'm angry that this is happening to our family. AGAIN. We've dealt with too many different types of cancer, already. We've dealt with too many deaths from every generation. I'm sad. This is my Dad and I want to keep him. I need him. I'm confused and hurt. Why him? Why so young? just. Fucking. WHY? I'm relieved, as bad as that may sound. I'm relieved that he won't have to undergo another round of chemo that has him sick as a dog for an entire weekend and then weakens his marrow that he has to get an injection that makes every bone in his body ache, horribly. I'm relieved that his anxiety and panic will no longer keep him up at night, which also will no longer keep my mother and brother up at night. I am relieved that this massive tumor that has taken over his entire right lung, and then some, will no longer make it so painful to move. I'm relieved that he will finally feel relief. I feel guilt that I didn't and couldn't do more. Help more. BE MORE. For him, for my mother, and for my brother. I am thankful. I am thankful that my brother had the strength and determination over these last 3 years to help my father when he needed it. I am thankful that we have those few friends and family that went so far out of their way to call and/or show up when things were looking so horribly dark for our family. Even if said family had to drive all night from friggin OHIO just to make sure they could be there for not only my father, but for us.
I am also left with so many questions that I want to ask him.
Have I become a woman that my father is proud to call his daughter? When I signed that paper, was it what he wanted and needed? Did I let him down and disappoint him more times in my life than I made him laugh and feel pride in my accomplishments? Can I truly handle knowing that there is going to be a day, much sooner than any of us want, that I think of something that I want to tell or ask him and realize that he's not there for me to call? Have I given him enough confidence in me to make sure that he knows that I will always be there to help my mother and brother when they need me? Does he know that we are all going to eventually be ok, even though none of us will ever be the same when he's gone? Are my kids going to be ok when all of this is said and done? Is my mother? What about my brother? Are we all going to really and truly be alright once my dad is gone? What about his father and sisters and brother? How pissed would he really be if he knew that I planned to hunt down papers with his last name written in his handwriting and have that transformed into art and permanently inscribed on my body? Would he understand and be less pissed, even if just a little, that it is my way of showing how proud I am to call myself his daughter?
I know that many of my fears and questions seem trivial. This is what death brings to the forefront for me. All of that trivial stuff that we all know isn't really that important. All of those questions that no one else is able to answer for us to make us feel any better about the current situation we are all struggling to make it through. It all runs around in my mind like spider monkeys on crack.
Every second that he's still here is another second I am simultaneously thrilled about and torn apart by. These are the moments that confuse and anger me, because I know that they will forever be gone. At the same time, some of those moments are waved at as they pass, with a bit of snark and relief, because I know I won't have to go through them all over again.
I will stay here. By my father's side. As long as it takes. I want him to feel, even if he doesn't consciously know, that he is not alone and that he is loved. We all love him. He is already being missed and he always will be. We all understand. And that it is eventually all going to be ok.
