Check Your Mortality, or, "An Open Letter to Whoever is Interested" · 12:17am Nov 14th, 2013
I'll be honest when I say I don't know why I'm writing this.
Maybe I'm venting.
Maybe I'm just needing an outlet.
I don't know.
One of the closest people to me in my entire life has been, without a doubt, my father. My mother, from no fault of her own, was never able to really be active in my life because strokes left her disabled when I was too young to really remember much about her. I remember all the girls I knew growing up (I grew up in one of those small towns where boys aren't supposed to show emotions outside of rage or joy because they're tough and all) would practically dote over me with pity, talking about how it was "so sad" and "just terrible" about the condition my mom was in. And maybe it was. But I didn't see it that way. You grow up your entire life getting told that the sky is green, never being told anything else, then the people who come out of nowhere and start saying it's blue are going to seem a bit weird to me. That was the normal situation for me growing up. Mom needed nursing care and dad was always there, alongside my grandma.
My dad recently beat colon cancer. As of this September it's going on a two years in remission. Ironically enough, this September marked a year since my grandma had passed away. And we were all well and set to celebrate a bright future where my dad had kicked cancer's ass. Right up until a few weeks back when scans revealed abnormalities in the back of his chest cavity (as I was told). And a biopsy came back on the 11th of this month to give us the news. My dad has been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, and they aren't sure how well they can treat it this time. I just don't know what I'm supposed to say to that.
He's just always been there. You know? It's just the accepted fact, or at least it was for a long time in my life.
The sun will shine, the grass will grow, and my dad is always supposed to be there.
And now there is the very real possibility that he won't be.
I've seen combat, I've seen friends die, and I've been closer to the end than I'd care to admit before.
And that scares the shit out of me more than anything.
Well I hope that the medical staff can do ABSOLUTELY everything they can to make it go into remission. Good luck to you and your father both, as tough times do seem to loom ahead.
What happened?
2113215
Cancer came back. Doctors' estimates aren't hopeful.
I was just coming here to thank you for a favorite, and I saw this. I know this feeling... Be well, dear person. I hope I was able to give you a little chuckle with my silly story. Laughs are good at times like these, even if it hurts to laugh.
Came here to say thanks for a fave and saw this post.
I know there's not a ton that I can do from halfway around the world, but know that you and your family are in my thoughts and prayers for a full and speedy recovery. Feel free to vent on here too if you need to. We readers will be here with a smile and an internet hug.
2113816
I lost my father last year, rather suddenly, even though he was in his 80s and was quite frail. It is scary, especially when you have to deal with things like the prospect of palliative care. And watching the people that were always giants to you now looking the way they do.
I'm very sure he knows you love him, even though it's something men don't talk about with their fathers often enough. Tell him, anyways. He may want to hear it now more than ever.