To write or not to write
I've been debating whether or not to put this out in the universe for awhile. But as more things pile up, I think that maybe writing this down may help. Idk. I'll most likely delete this in an hour. A warning that whinging is abound in this post. Here are three facts I have always known about my dad's cancer: 1. It's terminal stage IV 2. It's unpredictable 3. Eventually he will lose the fight against it Yes, I am aware death is inevitable to us all. But there's a poignant sadness that comes with watching someone slowly waste away. And that's what's happening to my dad. Words can't express my bitterness. My dad has always been full of life and a happy-go-lucky guy. He loves building things and labor-intensive tasks. Like working on his dream car that he eventually had to sell to pay for his treatments. Yeah, that was rough. And who wouldn't be angry when after working hard all of their lives, my mom and dad won't get the chance to go on trips together? Yes, they managed a few in the beginning. But we never got to have one last family vacation like they wanted. I couldn't take the time off work. I'll always regret that now. I've been getting a lot of messages of support. And I appreciate that. But how do I respond to the question "how are you?" which is most frequently asked. I would be honest, but I can't reply: Filled with guilt that I have to pump my dying father full of powerful medicine so that he suffers less as he wastes away on a hospital bed in my family room. I'm peachy. I know my bitterness is unfair and illogical. No one wants to accidentally upset me. But I can't help that sometimes my pessimistic personality overwhelms my logic when I'm stressed and anxious. I haven't slept more than 4 hours each night. My dad didn't know who I was yesterday. I thought I could be strong and not cry. I was wrong. I cried the first time I had to force him to take the medicine he was refusing. Now I just suck it up and get it done. The nurses keep telling us it's the right thing to do. This way, he's not suffering. But he is suffering. And it's heartbreaking to watch. Sometimes he can't even speak. Sometimes he's too weak to lift his hand all the way up. This from the man that used to do bicep curls with my sister and I hanging from each arm. This disease is brutal. And it's my "new normal." That's the phrase I've been using to help me through this entire order. It's a horrid normalcy but I'm scared of the new normal following it being a life without my dad. My family has always been close. Watching this break my mom's heart has been awful. She cries before she goes up to bed every night. I wish I could wave a wand and make it all go away. I've tried to keep my sense of humor throughout everything. That's what dad always did. But some days it's really hard to do so. Today just happened to be one of those days. Sometimes I'm afraid to talk about it to friends. Like it's a bother and everyone already knows the spiel. Idk. It feels awkward to be the mood killer. At least in a random rant people can choose not to read it if they'd rather not. Now I'm going to shut my brain down by watching TV for the next four hours until mom relieves me from observation duty.