“How’s your Dad doing?
I never see you say anything about him on your Facebook?”
This is a question I hear often. I understand the inquiry
and appreciate when friends worry about him. It’s usually friends asking who
know, love and are praying for him. Please
know every single moment of positive energy and love you send into the universe
for my family is a gift and is appreciated from the bottom of our hearts.
But for the record, I won’t be discussing my Dad’s cancer, his treatment, his
diagnosis or progress on social media.
And here’s why:
From the first moment since we found out, I’ve been raw,
shredded, knocked off my mooring and drifting, grasping, searching, cheering
for those crumbs of hope, crumpled in despair when a cancer cell eats that
crumb, resolute, AND SO ANGRY sometimes I can’t see straight or breathe.
Sometimes all these feelings happen in the same moment and completely overwhelm
me. So if I’ve been able to answer this question for you in person, it’s only by
the grace of God I didn’t ugly snot cry all over you.
The main reason I can’t write about the specifics are
because every time, every single solitary time, those kinds of words come out
of my mouth they nearly rip me apart. That’s what cancer does, you know. It
tears things up.
I HATE CANCER.
I hate those rampant little asshole cells who grow and push
into places they don’t belong with a fiery passion. How DARE those cancer cells
touch my Dad?! The unmitigated GALL of it all nearly turns me into a rage beast!
There is no making sense of cancer. There are no answers to all the whys. And
as a person of action, I’m crippled by the strangle hold of not being able to
do one damn thing about cancer being in my Dad’s body. I’m a fixer, damn it,
and there is just no fixing him.
Well, I never said I was rational about it.
As an author, my life is dedicated to words. I see them in
my dreams. They dance on the surface of my world. Words on the page bring emotions
roaring to life for me with each combination of letters. So to write about all
the treatments and symptoms blah blah, medicine, blah blah, doctors would
absolutely rip me apart inside. I just can’t endure using words to describe the
things that have thrown my family into the gapping maw of emotional hell for over a year. I
actually don’t even know if I could communicate them properly.
Anyway, it would probably all come out as
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRajsdhfkaugsidgfaisdgbifabsd;f.
So we if see each other in person, ask away. I won’t ever
mind you asking me about Dad. I know you’re asking because you care. Cancer is
a fact of my life now. It’s touched me and I’ll bear that mark forever. I will
bear it with courage for him. He’s endured cancer treatment for me and my family. Being courageous
for him is the least I can do. As far as
the words I put into the world, you’ll see my dog being spoiled, my kids being
kids, me hanging out with writers and readers, the characters and stories I create, and me drinking more coffee than
I should.
And giving cancer a double middle finger.
K.D.
