**I’m not sure if this needs a trigger warning but seen as I started bawling at a mustard coloured jumper today I guess it probably should – I’m talking about Cancer**
Alternative title: My dad has Cancer. The scans have revealed that it’s in his lungs, his liver and his lymph nodes. Nothing feels real, nothing feels normal … I suppose we’re all still reeling from the shock of it all. My dad has Cancer … And nothing will feel normal again.
I seem to have leveled up my cuppa making skills, the house has been inundated with people from all aspects of my dad’s life, they fill the walls with their stories and buzz around him as I carefully place freshly brewed tea’s onto coasters, envelopes, the carpet (don’t tell my mum!). I don’t seem to know what else to do but to fill everyone full of tea (or coffee) and just listen as they absorb the news. I feel as though I’m just watching it all unfold … As though it isn’t real and that at any moment everything will go back to the way it was. Except I know it won’t.
David Thewlis said it best in “The Late Hector Kipling” – It’s an easy thing to bring horror into a room. And that is exactly what the word ‘Cancer’ does. It leaves you feeling sick and bilious, as though the very oxygen you’re breathing is stale. It shakes your whole being, right to the core … And stupid things (such as mustard coloured jumpers) just set off a chain reaction of gut wrenching pain and hot tears.
Everyone keeps saying that it’s a bad time of year for this to happen … But honestly, there is no good time for this to happen. It is what it is. Yes the diagnosis is a total shit storm and there is definitely another (4 letter) C word that I would much prefer to call the disease … And yes this time of year is supposed to be festive and happy and all joy to the world. Everywhere we go at the moment people are excited for presents and Santa and movies that they’ve waited all year to see.
And while I’m having trouble aligning the two situations the fact remains that THIS Christmas is a gift for us because he is still here. We haven’t lost him yet. There is still hope (even if it’s as small as a grain of sand, hope is hope).
Even something as daft as watching him sip a cup of tea (with two sugars! I’m totally starting to remember that) is important. Forming new memories with him while we have the chance is what we have. There is still so much that we need him to share with us, for us to share with him … That I need him to share with me. He’s my dad, and the very idea that he won’t be there to one day walk me down the aisle at my wedding is heartbreaking … That he may never see grandchildren is even more painful than that! But at the moment it’s all maybes … It’s possible he will see those things. We just don’t know.
So for now it’s about experiencing each day as it comes … Because each day we have is precious.
So please bear with me, I’m hoping for LHB to return in the new year. I scheduled this post to fall on a Tuesday (as I like to keep a pattern to the postings) … But this particular Tuesday is when we find out what will happen regarding treatment … His prognosis. Ultimately it is dependent on what my dad wants and feels is right for him.
Much love and peace,
PS – If you (or someone you know) has been (or is being) affected by Cancer, then I can highly recommend Macmillan – they are amazing folks!
**UPDATE : We didn’t get as long as we hoped we would … My dad passed away on New Years Eve**