By Patti
He was given five years. "OK, five years. His oldest son will be about 10. I'll be a seasoned nurse. I can help him. We have plenty of time to prepare; to talk and laugh about all those moments from our childhood the four of us haven't forgotten."
The phone calls were helpful to him, I know. He would apologetically explain that his treatments had affected his hearing, so I'd have to speak up. It almost seemed as though he never wanted to say goodbye, to hang up the phone. Unless a nurse came into his room to care for him.
He wasn't really ready to die. Spiritually, yes. But he wanted to see his boys grow up. He wanted them to have a better relationship with their dad than he'd had with his own. He'd been cheated in a sense, and he'd been given a chance to correct the past in his two sons. He was thinking he could make a difference in five years.
But one day, the news came that the mean disease had spread. The phone calls stopped. And a few months later, we went to his funeral. A year and a half after he was given five years.
Four months later, I struggle with my personal anger. It's not right that one of us is gone already. That he's not here with the rest of us who are still eating too much on holidays and happily watching our own kids dance and play soccer.
We have no choice but to go on without him. Here we remain, knowing things that only we knew. That he carved our initials near the top of that tree over there. That the treehouse was -- and maybe stilll is -- across that field, now owned by strangers who have no idea of the past we lived as children. That his bedroom through that window used to be covered with fire engine wallpaper.
And only we knew who really stole Mr. Grigg's pumpkins and smashed them that fall night.
I wish for a miraculous cure. So that not one more person would have to know this sadness; this emptiness one feels when a part of itself is missing.
Patti is a student Registered Nurse currently studying oncology.
I am very, very sorry for your loss. Prayers and hugs coming your way.
Posted by: abogada | November 01, 2006 at 01:21 PM
It's not fair. I'm so sorry.
Hugs
Posted by: Laura | October 31, 2006 at 10:41 AM
Sending good thoughts your way. It's not fair.
Posted by: Anjali | October 31, 2006 at 09:24 AM
Beautiful post. Hugs.
Posted by: Kimberly | October 30, 2006 at 08:39 PM
I'm so sorry.
Posted by: pink | October 30, 2006 at 05:01 PM
As one ripped-off sister to another, I echo your grief and anger. You were ripped off - I was ripped off - way too many people get ripped off on a daily basis by this mind-bogglingly cruel disease. There really is nothing else to say.
Posted by: basquette | October 30, 2006 at 04:14 PM
I wanted to say something profound to make you feel better but I remember when my dad died and everything people said sounded lame and fake even though I know it wasn't.
It was hard enough losing my dad and my grandparents years ago but if anything happened to my sister,I think I'd scream and cry for the rest of my life.(Ditto for Rich and Lillianna,of course.)
I am so sorry that you have to go through this and it does seem like you were ripped off not getting the 5 years you were promised. It's not healthy to be bitter but I certainly would be.One and a half years doesn't seem long enough to me at all.
I think all parents should live long enough to see all their kids get married and have kids of their own.
Hugs to you,Patti.
Posted by: Robin P | October 30, 2006 at 03:31 PM
Hugs, Patti.
Posted by: Shelley | October 30, 2006 at 02:37 PM