My Dad is my Hero. My Dad is Dying.
Three weeks ago my family learned that my dad has cancer. After a bunch of test we learned that he had, specifically, Stage 4, non-small cell, metastatic lung cancer.
Translation: You’re fucked.
If you don’t know me or my family let me just preface by saying we are the greatest unit ever. I am not saying that we don’t fight, cuz we sure do, but we love and respect each other and enjoy each other’s company. My parents alone have the greatest relationship in the world. 35 years and they still make out.
And now it’s gone.
Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. We’ve actually become a stronger family; if that was even possible. What I mean by saying “it’s gone” is that now we’re THAT family. The family with *cancer*. Everything we do, we read, we talk about, we think about, we fret about is cancer.
In the meantime, my dad has gone from gladiator to…not a gladiator. He still makes his jokes, he still smiles and is the same Daddy I love but he is weak. And tired. Exhausted, actually. He’s losing his hair from the radiation, his muscle is gone and he is confined mostly to a bed. He knows it’s no way to live. I know he wants to get 100% better or die. He told me.
He’s lived his entire life for others, for his family. He worked, and worked hard, ever since he was a young boy. Every minute he was awake he was building, fixing, welding, mowing, the list goes on but it won’t change a thing. It doesn’t matter what an honorable husband and loving father he was. While it doesn’t mean that his fate is decided he still must travel on this path.
I took a long time to write this, partially because things were changing so fast. Mostly because I didn’t want to admit it.