As many of you may, or may not be aware, my father has cancer. He has had it for several years and it has been able to be managed enough to not affect his life to much. That was until a few months ago when some of the tumors started popping up again. His cancer is not curable. As a matter of fact, it's quite rare. So anything the limited research has been able to come up with to fight it has been welcome. That's why, when the baby killing medicine of yesteryear, thalidomide, was suggested as a way to combat some of those tumors, the method was tried out. After significantly altering my dad's life for a period of months, it was decided that that method wasn't helping at all and could have, in fact, made it worse. So here we are, faced with the fact that, according to the research, there is only one other drug that could possibly send those tumors back into remission. How long? Nobody knows. Will it work? Only time will tell.
So I hold onto these moments. These opportunities to be a part of his life. These memories that will one day become all I have left. I ache not as much for me but for those grandkids of his who adore him. They have been with him since the day they were born. I wish he could be with them when they have their own. Who knows, maybe he will. The sucky part is, I have to deal with the fact that maybe he won't.
For so many years, this cancer has been one of those subjects that was on the bottom of the list. He took his treatments, the tumors stayed away and that was that. We did other things, said other things, debated other things, enjoyed other things. Their was a time that he tried chemotherapy and lost all of his hair. Let me tell you, that was a reality check. To have to see him like that was very painful but we did it anyway. In fact, in some strange way, it became mandatory. Not for us but for his grandkids. It was important that they see him that way. They had to start to get an understanding that their beloved Pop Pop had cancer. And we all went to see him that Thanksgiving. The 6 grandkids at the time, decided on a special hat for him to wear to hide his bald head. I wish I had the pictures to post because it was hysterical to see all of them piled up on his lap, so proud of the chicken hat that he was wearing, totally oblivious to the baldness their Pop Pop had acquired. That reality check came again a few months ago when he was undergoing the thalidomide treatment. He basically hibernated for those months. That medicine was given once at night to pregnant women to help them sleep. He was taking it 4 times a day. How do YOU think he felt? To have to watch this protector of mine be devoid of energy and pep, to start talking about 'the end game', to physically see the effects of the cancer fight going on in his body - it's painful. Just so painful.
But here we are. Soaking up time with him as we soak up sun in Florida. I just can't help wondering if we will be here next February. You see, we have a standing reservation in February down here. We're just expected to be here. And dad, I can't let you off the hook. I expect you to be here next year. I just don't know how realistic that is. I can tell you one thing. If you aren't, I don't know if I will be. This place will never be the same. It will never have the same appeal. It won't hold the same specialness that is does now. My haven. The place I go in my thoughts when I can't sleep. The place I run to when I am facing an anxiety attack. The place I long to be when life gets whacky. I hold onto the last 20 years of this time here with iron clenched fists. I will never let it go.
