It’s been a weird few months. I could trot out some excuse about my usual procrastination issues but the bottom line is, I know what I’ve wanted to write about but just kept putting it off because I was having a hard time quantifying what I wanted to say.
I mentioned in the post about my wife that I tend to avoid posting anything too personal in this online missive. I’m not sure why that is. Perhaps in this world we live in, where you can go onto Facebook and “tmi” is oozing off of every update that you scroll through I figured that there were some things that are better left unsaid. In the end however, there is catharsis is putting oneself out there on occasion, isn’t there?
I lost my Dad last month. That in itself is surreal. It’s strange that I have his number in my phone and feel that I need to call him to check in or to see if he can give me a hand with a project around my house, but I can’t. I have known for over two years, since his diagnosis, that there would come a time for that inevitable moment, however, I wasn't ready and I don't think you can ever prep yourself to lose someone you love.
He had a Stage 4 Glioblastoma. That’s the name they have for an inoperable brain tumor. Essentially, if you have this thing, there is no cure. You manage it, you buy time but you don’t beat it. There are some outliers. One that I know of has lived for 15 years with his. Dad was given 15 months and they expected him to live half of that. He made it for over two years.
I could talk, I suppose, about what the man meant to me and how he impacted me but if it’s all the same to you, I want to hold on to that stuff. It’s mine. I have been carrying something, however, that I want to put out there, that I need to put out there.
During his illness, I did a fair share of research into just what it was he was walking around with and in doing so, came across support sites for those who had loved ones that were wrestling with this insidious disease. I lurked for a time but couldn’t ever bring myself to post our story. A lot of those people were discussing the various treatments their parent/aunt/uncle/child, etc were going through and I was watching my Dad go through the same shit. I knew all about the radiation, the Temodar, followed by more radiation, followed by Evastin and the constant battery of pills that he had to take day in and day out. Postings were followed by messages, pledges of support, rife with platitudes to “keep fighting” and “don’t give up hope”. I wasn’t sure how I felt about those.
When Dad was first diagnosed, I was beyond happy that he had decided to go with the radiation and Temodar treatments and to stay with us as long as he could. I wanted him to meet Thing 2, who had yet to be born. I was thrilled that he saw me get my house, which he wanted for me.
As an aside, he was going through treatment and showed up every day to help me when I was getting the house ready for us to move in. It was a Herculean effort for the shape he was in and yet, it was where he wanted to be because that was the person that he was. As is usual, I digress.
I wasn’t sure about those messages of hope and fighting the good fight because as the tumor spread and the treatments started to have little effect, I knew that he had done all he could do. He wasn’t even 70 years old and the entire process had aged him. He could barely communicate, mobility was an issue…I don’t think I have to continue to paint the portrait. I wanted my father here to see his grandsons grow and to be in our lives. End of story. However, it was easy for me to want that. I wasn’t sleeping for entire days or forgetting what I read after I closed a book or dealing with a variety of side effects of medication. Dad couldn't ride his motorcycle anymore, couldn't drive, couldn't disassemble small engines or work on his house. He couldn't do the things he was happiest doing. He wanted to go.
That’s why I had/have a problem with the “keep hope alive” stuff because in the end, telling a person to soldier on is selfish. You want them to stay because you love them and you can't conceive of them not being there but it’s selfish. I sure as hell didn't have that thing in my head and in the end, when he wanted to stop fighting, I told him it was alright. What about that message? What about the preservation of a person's dignity by throwing in the towel on the good fight and letting go? Bottom line, consider what "quality of life" really means, because to me, it isn't suffering through another round of treatments because people want you to. In the end, that person you care about so much deserves to rest. You soldier on and live your life secure in what your parent/sibling/aunt/uncle/child, meant to you and eased by the thought that no matter what, they will always be with you.
I love and miss you Dad. Watch yer topknot.
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