We Are All Strong

Yesterday my best friend had to say good-bye to someone she loved. It came with no warning. Her uncle was here one minute and gone the next. I can't even fathom having someone you care about so deeply leave this world forever for no apparent reason. It just baffles me.
I've talked to so many people who have lost a loved one from a car wreck, or heart attack, or a freak accident and they all say they don't think that they could have done what I did. They couldn't have watched someone suffer and fight, to slowly lose at a visible rate. And I admit, it was hard, it's still hard to think about. To think that the last time I saw my Dad he was so weak and so frail, and he barely resembled my himself. Sometimes I wish for a brief second that I didn't see him like that. That I didn't have to see him hooked up to all those machines, tubes, and meds. I think about when they left for Little Rock. He was so small, and so fragile, but he could still walk and breathe on his own. He could still eat food with a fork and not a tube. I wrote a blog a while back about how much he had changed and how sick he had gotten. I would give anything in the world to have had the last time I had seen him be like he was when I wrote that. That was nothing compared to what we all saw as he sat in ICU. I hope my friends never have to see someone they love the way I saw my Father those last few precious days. But I know that I am so thankful I had those moments and didn't have to say good-bye in shock and in bewilderment. I'm not strong or brave for handling my Dad's sickness, and ultimately his death, with composure. And my friends are not weak for handling their sudden losses with overwhelming grief. I don't even know if I could handle it if my Dad had left us from something so sudden. Yes, he was sick. Yes, it was hard, but we knew his days were coming to an end and we made sure we said everything we needed to and spent our time together. No matter the circumstance we are all dealing with grief. Mine was spread out over a few years. My friends' all came at once. Neither one is fair. Death isn't fair. Death is a tremendous blow to your soul no matter what way it was delivered. We have all lost someone, and we are all strong for dealing with it in whatever way our hearts could handle.

Anticipation vs Reality

Every time I see my Dad he looks more like a skeleton and less like my Dad. I can't help but to notice how small his legs are. They're frail and bony. They used to deliver roundhouse kicks as he instructed karate class and now they barely hold him as he walks. His tattoo he got done just a few short years ago used to stretch across his muscular arms. Now it hangs on his limp skin that has no muscle or fat to cling to. His clothes swallow him up. The shirts he wears are loose garments draped over his body. His pants hang from his waist and I imagine a belt underneath that has added holes in it to make it tighter than it was meant to go and a cinched waistline bunched up beneath it. There's this darkly ironic detail I've noticed. The chemo has destroyed his body, but his hair is coming back. I know we can't pick and choose what side effects the chemo has but it's wreaked havoc on his weight and let his hair continue to grow in, and it pisses me off. He didn't have hair before because he always kept his head and face shaved, now there's peach fuzz everywhere and no fat anywhere. If that's cancer or life's way of being funny, I'm not amused

He used to be a big foodie. He still loves new restaurants and food trucks, but he rarely eats anymore and when he does he fills up on a few bites and then struggles to keep it down. The lack of calories he consumes has left him weak, and exhausted. It's a challenge to get from the couch to the front door and back. Small tasks like letting our car Fred out, cooking a TV dinner, and chasing my 1 year old Dexter around are doable, but they push him to his limits. Sometimes they push him past them. It's tough to see him on the couch every time I go to their house because I know he's probably only gotten up to go to the bathroom. A few years ago he was training for BJJ/MMA fighting and now....

In the Lupe Fiasco song  "Mission" that I reference a lot, there's a man at the intro who talks about his battle with cancer and what he went through to get into remission. There's a line from the song that he said before that broke my heart but now it haunts me because now I don't just understand what he saying, I see it happening right in front of me. He says, "I literally died to stay alive." Before my heart went out to this brother in the dysfunctional family that cancer creates, but now I weep for my Dad. Even though the man said he was LITERALLY dying to stay alive I didn't get what he was saying in it's full capacity. 

The strange thing about cancer, or one of them, is that you know what to expect, but everything is still such a surprise when it happens. There's a big difference between anticipating and experiencing. I knew my Dad would get sick. I've seen other people get sick, I've watched documentaries, I've seen movies and TV shows about people with cancer and what it does to them, but cheese and rice... seeing it happen to family, that's a whole different thing. 

My Dreams Aren't Your Dreams

Most girls dream of their wedding day. Or the day they have their first child. The day they buy a home to start their family in. I dreamed of all those things. But I also dreamed of the day my father would go into remission. A year ago today, that dream came true. I cried and thanked God in the middle of the break room at work. That whole day I was on such a high. I felt invincible. I felt like my Dad was invincible. He did it! Goodness had overcame. That day was one of the greatest days of my life. But it's hard for me to wrap my head around. Mainly because here I am, a year later, and I'm still waiting for that same dream to come true. A year later. His remission didn't even last a year. Just a few short months. Months. How can that be? He fought so hard and we were all riding on this high of life and defeating death only for it to come back and give us all terrible come downs.
Today we should be celebrating together or having a big pig roast. But we're not. Today, my Dad is 40 pounds underweight and oftentimes needs to use a cane to walk. Today I'll be listening to Lupe Fiasco's song "Mission" to give me hope. Hoping that my Dad will be just like Cathy Philips. Every time I hear her I cry. I hear the empowerment in her voice and I get chills. She sounds strong and fearless. "Hi, my name is Cathy Philips and I just beat the living shit out of breast cancer. Cancer definitely picked the wrong bitch to mess with. F$@% you cancer! Woo hoi! I'm a survivor baby! YEAH!!!" I dream that one day that will be my Dad. He won't say it in those words, but he will say it with a fierce boldness and empowerment. One day. I know it.

Listen to the song and read the lyrics here. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIj8_E3oZx0

It's Just A Word. Right?

People have always told me about someone they love getting diagnosed with Cancer and each time they do I always wondered what it would feel like to hear that phrase, "I'm sorry, but you have Cancer." The more I would think about it, the more I decided that I would just look at Cancer as a word. I would strip it of it's scary, ominous connotations. Then, it would just become a six letter, two syllable word. Just like pencil. I would look at it as a sickness, but not a deadly one. Just a pesky one like the common cold. It seemed like a good plan, and it probably would have worked if I had been told the I had cancer. What I had been told was worse.

*****

June 22, 2013.
I had spent the last few days visiting my Dad in the hospital while they tried to figure out what was wrong with him. He was initially admitted after answering a few questions at his doctors office and being told to immediately check into the hospital. They had found that his kidney's were failing, but didn't know why. It seemed like a million tests had been ran with no answers. That day my sister was back to town and the whole family would finally be together. Kobe and I hung out in the room and at some point Taylor showed up. Mom had stuck a sign on the door saying Dad was sleeping and to please let him rest. We just wanted some alone time. Earlier, I exaggerated and said they had ran a million tests but I think it's not too far of a stretch to say that Dad had a million visitors over the last few days. We enjoyed the alone time for a little bit but it didn't last too long. Mom and Dad gave each other this look and turned and looked at us with purpose in their eyes. I knew they had found whatever was wrong with Dad. Honestly, I can't tell you anything they said other then the C word. Hearing that my Dad had this strange "Multiple Myeloma" wasn't something I could strip down and turn into meaningless syllables. It sounded so official. Mulitple Myeloma. I hated it. I loathed it's name. I wanted it to die, and not take my Dad with it.
Cancer had honestly never crossed my mind as an option. To me, my Dad was invincible. He was a fighter. Literally. At the age of 50 he was training in Jiu Jitsu and had taught Karate and self defense for most of my life. He ran. He worked out. He didn't follow a strict diet, but he didn't have to. My Father was the perfect picture of health. I just thought it would be something small that had turned into a huge nuisance only because it had gone unnoticed for so long. He'd take a couple pills, spend a few more days in the hospital and go back to fighting and training and relief would come for him and our whole family. Instead, we got Cancer. M. F-ing cancer.