I posted this on my family blog a few days ago and thought I would repost it on this one since I will be only using this blog to talk about my dad’s cancer.
I’m having a pity party today. Feeling sorry for myself and thinking that the way things work in life are sometimes pretty unfair. I am sure at one point in time all of us are going to feel this way. Watching a loved one fight for their life with a horrible mean unrelenting disease can make you feel a little depressed, helpless….ANGRY.
What are the 7 stages of grief? I think anger is number 3. I just skipped 1-2 and went to 3.
I am angry that he won’t see his oldest grandson get married. I am angry that he won’t see my 13 year old graduate from high school. I am mad that my 4 year old won’t remember him. I’m mad that he won’t be there for me….
There is NO ONE in this world I love more than my father. Not my kids, not my husband, not even Bon Jovi (joke). He is the one person in my life that has never judged me, yelled at me, or gotten mad at me. No, I am not exaggerating. He has never gotten mad at me. If you know me well then you know how impressive that is.
When I was 17 and pregnant ( and getting ready to place my baby for adoption) I felt so alone. My dad would come down at night and sit at the side of my bed while I cried. He is the person I call now when I am frustrated with things in my life and he will listen to me cry and help talk things out, and again not judge me or tell me I doing it all wrong.
This makes it sound like I cry a lot. I don’t. In fact since my dad was diagnosed with this horrible cancer I have cried twice. The first time was this past Saturday night at midnight in bed while my husband slept, and yesterday at work in the bathroom. It all hits me at the most random times. And the person I wanted to call each time and talk about it to is my dad, and I can’t.
We are going down to visit this weekend. I am taking the camera to preserve memories. Ironically my obsession with family pictures has always been with my 94 year old grandfather. My thoughts were we never knew when would be the last time we saw him. So I always make sure we take pictures with him and tell him how much we love him. He wants to go. He misses my grandma. He’s tired and ready for the next step in the whole grand scheme of things. He will probably live to be 104.
Is life funny, or just mean?