I’ve been lost. I’ve been lost ever since the persistent heartburn. The words liposarcoma still echo in my mind. The scans. The doc with the-really-long-probably-shouldn't-be-forgettable- name, pulling us into the “bad news” room (find that episode on Parenthood- good show). But it wasn’t bad news. They had pulled out a tumor the size of a damn basketball. The “leftovers”?- totally marginal. No radiation- just follow up on your scans on time. On time. But he was OK. He made it. He would meet our sweet homage to both Umpa and Great Grandma Marge: Lucille Brianne. He beamed. Just like all the others. So proud.
And then... he didn’t get the scans. Stubborn mule. And I knew. Pretty sure he knew. But he was our Superman. He beat it before. He’d just press repeat. But…. the repeat button didn’t work. Too late. Popcorn tumors. Lungs. 3-6 months… without treatment. Or with. Whatevs.
So yeah, I guess I’ve been gone for quite a bit. So here goes. It was 2 years ago this past May when my whole world shattered. Completely, utterly shattered. How could I possibly sit back and watch my Dad get sick and not fucking beat this? How do you do it? Well, I got pissed. And I think I still am. But hey, this is my attempt to find my happy again. To not be so lost. In the process, I am hoping that if you choose to follow my personal healing journal, and you’re going through it too, that you too, may find some healing.
I’ve really struggled with wanting to talk about it. I mean, this is my personal pain. My loss. A piece of me is gone. Not sure if it is more selfishness, or if it was more of a stigma thing. I didn’t want anyone to know my pain. Not that I felt like a burden. It’s just mine. And eventually I am going to be OK. Dad wouldn’t like that though. If he could help, he would. Maybe he wouldn’t be super raw with emotions, and the pain, and the aftermath- the man was the friendliest private man in the universe. But, if I can help, even one, I’m doing him proud.
And then... he didn’t get the scans. Stubborn mule. And I knew. Pretty sure he knew. But he was our Superman. He beat it before. He’d just press repeat. But…. the repeat button didn’t work. Too late. Popcorn tumors. Lungs. 3-6 months… without treatment. Or with. Whatevs.
So yeah, I guess I’ve been gone for quite a bit. So here goes. It was 2 years ago this past May when my whole world shattered. Completely, utterly shattered. How could I possibly sit back and watch my Dad get sick and not fucking beat this? How do you do it? Well, I got pissed. And I think I still am. But hey, this is my attempt to find my happy again. To not be so lost. In the process, I am hoping that if you choose to follow my personal healing journal, and you’re going through it too, that you too, may find some healing.
I’ve really struggled with wanting to talk about it. I mean, this is my personal pain. My loss. A piece of me is gone. Not sure if it is more selfishness, or if it was more of a stigma thing. I didn’t want anyone to know my pain. Not that I felt like a burden. It’s just mine. And eventually I am going to be OK. Dad wouldn’t like that though. If he could help, he would. Maybe he wouldn’t be super raw with emotions, and the pain, and the aftermath- the man was the friendliest private man in the universe. But, if I can help, even one, I’m doing him proud.
So welcome, to this little adventure of mine.
Let’s be honest. It’s time to live. I’ve been reminded recently that not living, not processing all of this…
that’s not what he would have wanted.
He would want me to see the blue sky.
Run through the plush green summer grass.
Truly enjoy the little God Wink he sent me. He’s here. I know.
It’s time to feel it all, and get back up again. I’ve been knocked down. Time to get back up. Here goes!
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