The Year Mark

This day last year I noticed my dads oxygen levels were getting lower despite being on the full setting of the ventilator. This day last year was the beginning of the end and he passed two days later. It has been hard not to relive each day spent in the hospital over the last month, especially since I've spent some time in the same hospital for my own cancer treatments.

One thing that has been so strongly apparent to me is that I'm so happy to be where I'm at on this July 26th than where I was last year. That seems strange. My dad is gone now, I got cancer, I'm doing toxic treatments that will hopefully prevent this cancer from returning, although its no guarantee, and in the meantime could cause me secondary cancers, permanent heart damage, etc.Who the hell would want to be here!? Well, there is nothing worse than watching a loved one pass away, and to be able to do nothing about it, to feel completely helpless.  This year, the burden is mine, this cancer-I own it. It's so much easier to feel in control of a situation when the situation is yours to control. I was a different person at this time last year. I was so innocent, so ignorant, my life was so easy up until that point. This year I am hardened, toughened, and my shell is callused. I no longer freak out over the  small things and let them consume me because I know what real pain is and I know what the big things are. I also know that you can live through real pain, survive it, and get stronger. Prior to my father's illness, back in the sunshine and rainbow filled first 32.5 years of my life, I used to pray to God to grant me an easy time here on Earth. Please spare me from losing my loved ones before they are old and grey, please spare me from major illness. "I'm not strong enough to handle things like that, God." I said.  Out loud. On more than one occaission. But my life's path had plans to show me that I was strong. And my situation this year is mine to control, and finally, I know that I am strong enough to to handle the hard things.

I wonder what my dad would think of my situation. If he were here I think he'd be strong, I think he would comfort my mom, and I think he'd bring comic relief. I still think he does those things. I feel comfort right now, sitting in this hospital bed and getting a chemo infusion. Last year at this time I would stand by his bed and talk to him but I didn't know if he heard me. This year, I know he does.

I miss you every single minute of every single day, Dad. This has been the hardest year of my life, and filled with more pain than I could have ever imagined. I've spent the last year trying to make sense of your death. But if I believe that it was so that you could watch over me and guide me, then it makes the pain bearable. The day I see you again in Heaven will be a glorious one, but I hope it's not for at least 40 more years.