As family and friends and so many readers already know, my father was told he has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I strongly believe my fathers doctor missed this cancer months ago but that is a post for another day. The fact is, it is through out his body and my Dad went from 200lbs to just 150lbs in the last 6 weeks and the extreme chemo he is on is really hard on him. It is heart breaking.
He is my “person” in this world if you know what I mean and there are just so many emotions and of course never enough time. We live 1000 miles away from him and finally have gotten to visit him this week. I want to hug him hard but of course can’t. I want to talk and talk but so often the words are lost and now so little seems to matter that once did.
Tears spill as I write about this week. I followed him around with my good camera, he knows why, we all do. We can’t know if this is the last time we will see one another, we don’t have more leave for a few months. A large family surviving on a military income makes travel a bit hard as you might imagine. Every day is a blessing, and scary. I will return home, I will do all those things I must do, and all the while I will wish I was with my Dad and every time the phone rings my heart will stop and I will wonder if it is the worst while in hopes it is him calling me telling me it is a good day. We live for those good days I swear it. He has the best string of good days he has had since he was told about his cancer this week. The fentanyl patch shockingly is working for his pain better than the morphine and oxy. This could mean more good days! He deserves a lifetime of good days but of course we will take what we can get. I am so happy he has Mom to help him, she is taking great care of him. I know I talk so much about him, but goodness her dear heart and all she is going through too. We will do what ever we can for them. What I would give to make this any better for them.
My father and some of the family!
While my Dad is an only child of Canadian immigrants and they have passed on he does have a large family who loves him dearly and so many friends who care deeply about him. I can only hope he feels it. I am so thankful for the good day I took this photo on.
My Dad is caring and amazing. He is the hardest worker I have ever known, the definition of blue collar, a mans man who can fix anything and so skilled at putting dinner on the table in so many real ways, be it fishing it out of the ocean or shooting a deer in an over populated area. He made his parents so proud and he knows it. I hope he knows how proud he has made his children and that we will make sure all his grand children and their children know how wonderful he is. I am not sure he noticed in his life but when ever he didn’t know something he found a way to learn it. He would rather do something himself than have it done for him. I wish there was a way he could learn to fight this cancer. I am a realist though and the numbers are against us. I have hope we have more time, please let there be more time. I say these words as a small child would, praying into a black dark night, such a tiny voice over and over. Please let there be more time. Moments like this I am so thankful for, time to sob while my family sleeps, time to process this all. I know there are other daughters out there right now feeling these things, loosing their parents to the 4th most common and deadly cancer. It is said to be the worse, the most painful, the most hopeless. I know I am not alone. I have seen this cancer take someone dear before, someone amazing and so loved. It is so painful and I just can’t make sense of it. It is tragic and horrible and so unfair. Alas, I am rambling.
He loved holding his youngest grand child this week. He would talk to her and sometimes I would hear his voice crack and then get quiet and we would both be thinking those sorrowful things we don’t want to give voice to. Things I can’t type tonight. Things I don’t want to admit are likely.
We have to go home in the morning. I hate it. I don’t want to go. We have no choice though and truly we must as the kids have caught a cold and we can’t have that near Pepere with his weakened immune system. I did get to go to one of his oncology appointments with him. I asked if I could give my bone marrow or anything to help, but it isn’t possible with this type of cancer. I hate feeling this helpless. So we go home tomorrow and have to some how live our lives and I honestly don’t know how I will manage, but with 5 children I know I must.
My heart goes out to you. My dad was diagnosed with barely stage 2 lung cancer 2 years ago. He had surgery. Did chemo. Went into remission. Cared for his own father who died from lung cancer last summer. Was his brothers emotional support system while he battled stage 4 lung cancer, but passed in February this year. He welcomed his first granddaughter into the world in February, and first grandson in May. A week later he found out the cancer had returned, stage 4, metastasized to the liver. In June they found it in his brain. He was gone in August. This was the has test year of my life, and I wish I could have that time back. All the things you wrote, the things you are experiencing feels so fresh and raw to me.
I hope you get to spend the holidays with him. I hope you can find time to say the things you don’t want to say. I am glad I got to talk to my dad about his death, it was sad, but comforting and real, and I’m so glad I can say now I don’t regret not saying what I needed to. Cry together. Tears can be so healing. Sending love to you and your family!