Here’s the thing; we all get older. We just do. There are
certain things that happen as you grow older and you just have to deal with
them. But what if you don’t know how? Or want to?
I turned 39 years young this year. I have no spouse. No
kids. Nobody to wash my butt when I get old. Hey, it’s a thing!! But, it is
what it is. Not much I can do about it. But along with that age admission comes,
reality. Reality is like a bitch slap to the face sometimes and man, oh man,
did I get a good backhand recently.
So the one part of getting older I don’t know how to handle
doesn’t have anything to do with me. I mean, it does, but doesn’t. I’ve always feared death. Not my own, but
people I care about. We’ve had some scares. We’ve had some diagnoses. We’ve had
some accidents. But it isn’t until it gives you the ol’ one-two punch that you realize
that nobody is immortal; even if you want them to be. Or need them to be.
Recently my dad had a cancer diagnosis. The big, bad, C
word. It’s funny really, how life works. He had a kidney stone (about time I’m
not the only one who knows that
pain), and he was going to get it blasted. To do so, they’d insert a stint into
his you-know-what. You’re welcome….. Along the way they noticed tumors which
indicated cancer. My mom was there, thinking they were doing a normal
procedure, just to find out from some a-hole doctor who was in a hurry, that
her husband of 40+ years had cancer. Yep, picture this jerk juggling his keys
whilst telling my mother her husband has cancer. I could damn near have an embolism over this
(but my mom won’t tell me the doctor’s name which is smart on her part). So
instead, they tell her they will get the results of the biopsy in ten day. TEN
MF@#$*(@)#* days.
Days had never passed at such a painful pace. Checking my
phone constantly waiting for “the call”. Leaning on friends, not knowing what
to do or say. Acting normal but wanting to just stay home and cry for fear of
the unknown. Thank God that we got the best news possible outside of a benign
diagnosis. But let me tell you about the
in-between. The affect. I’m solely speaking from my angle as the only daughter
of a father who just got diagnosed with cancer.
Your dad is indestructible. Your dad is strong. Your dad is
the person who knows all the answers. So when there is the possibility that he may
not be here for much longer; it’s goddamn scary. It puts things in perspective
and it makes the bullshit .. well just that, bullshit. Every fight. Every word
not spoken. Every hug not given. Just seems so damn stupid.
My dad is my go-to-guy. He’s the one person I’ve gone to my
whole life for questions and answers about Life’s Moving Parts. Oil changes, money,
moving, how to’s, etc. It’s been primarily ”business chats” lacking much outward
emotion, but mostly because that’s how he is, and that’s how I am, and together
we get by just fine. And together we are one awkward ball of love without
knowing how to show or say it. It works for us. Or at least I thought it did.
You see, I’m the middle child, only girl. My dad worked hard
for us building houses and slaving away on the north slope of Alaska. I didn’t
appreciate it then. Instead I held grudges for the soccer games he missed, but
also felt relief for the times he was gone when I knew I could get away with
things. It was the proverbial double-edged sword. But deep down, I saw how my friends
interacted with their dads and I wanted that. I wanted that “daddy’s little
girl” relationship but it had been so long since it’d been that way, that I
didn’t know how to come back to it. I honestly don’t know if it really ever
existed. It isn’t that I don’t know he loves me, because I know he does. It
isn’t as though he doesn’t respect me, because I think he does. It’s that he
and I are the same when it comes to showing emotions with one another. We just
do it differently. I’m more comfortable buying you something rather than
telling you how I feel. I will fix something for you to show I care. I will be
there for you to show support. I am probably not the person you’ll go to for
the shoulder to cry on. But if you need me to tell you how I feel, it probably
isn’t happening; or at least it wasn’t. It made me wildly uncomfortable and I
felt like a teenage girl asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Awkward is a
good describing word. I wanted to say
it. I wanted to show it. I wanted to express it, but it all felt so awkward.
Until that day.
Until that day my mom called and said my dad had cancer.
That was the day I decided to be done being afraid. Being awkward. Taking the
easy way out. I still wasn’t sure what
to say when I talked to him. I didn’t want to shrug it off as though I wasn’t
affected, but I didn’t want to jump in explaining how scared I was or how I
didn’t know what I’d do without him. I wasn’t ready for that conversation quite yet. So we played the game as
usual. “How are you?”, “Kidneys stones suck, eh?”… chatted for a few and then I
had to go back to work. It was then, for the first time in quite possibly, my
adult life, he ended our conversation with, “I love you.” It sounds so small. So trivial. So
insignificant. But I think when those words are spoken so often, you forget the
significance. The impact. The power. The
sheer force. Although this time may be one of the worst I’ve been through thus
far, I think it was a pivotal moment between father and daughter. A pivot that
I think we’ve both wanted but weren’t sure how to make the first move. With
that said… Dad, I love you. I am so thankful and grateful to be your only
daughter. To be told I’m “so much like your father” is the best compliment I
could receive. But I swear to God… if you ever do this to me again I will fly
to wherever you are and give you a giant bear hug… and you and I both know that
would be super awkward so let’s stay healthy, eh?
