Lots of big feelings for the past few weeks, guys!
For starters, I had been beyond worried about a friend of mine. She has PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), and has been having constant health issues related to that. But then doctors found an especially large cyst that seemed out of the ordinary--a complex cyst. My worry settings are always set to autopilot, so I was all flustered, while she was the epitome of grace over the whole situation. Thankfully, her doctors ran some tests and don't believe that it's cancerous, because it's not "behaving like cancer." What a relief!
Then a dear friend lost her Dad to cancer. I'm a wreck whenever it comes to stuff like that, particularly because I'm flooded with memories of my own Dad's illness and death from cirrhosis way back in 1989. I was 16 at the time, so I'm fuzzy on many of the details, but I still remember his last moments as if they had just come to pass. So my Dad has been on my mind heavily for the past week. I can't believe it's been over twenty years since he's been gone.
Unlike my friend's Dad, my Dad didn't have a well-defined faith or spiritual home. He never went to church, and only showed interest in God when he was a few years into his illness. Towards the very end of his life, I'd find him reading bits of his Bible, and he seemed comforted by what he read in it. I was too oblivious at the time to understand where the change came from, even though it was a marked change and I knew that he was ill. I still hadn't realized, even after half a dozen or more hospitalizations, that things had gotten pretty serious with his illness. It never even occurred to me that he would die of cirrhosis. It wasn't like I had the Internet available at the time, providing ample opportunity to Google his diagnosis and worry myself to death over the possibilities. I do wish I had known how serious it all was. It would have forced me to pay more attention. I may have made it a point to focus more on the little things...conversations we had had, jokes he had told, and just quiet uneventful times spent together. Granted, I should have been doing that all along, but I was really oblivious about life at the time. I was a very selfish teen, preferring to spend time by myself or with friends, rather than with my family. My Dad didn't seem to mind, as when he was home, he spent most of his time on the couch, watching baseball. When I was younger, he hated it whenever my Mom would ask him to take me along with him to watch a live game. It was hilarious! Sometimes I think my Mom would just fling me on him unawares, so as to ruffle his feathers a bit. And he'd let me know just how annoyed he was, too, with a series of deep sighs and grunts. And yet just a few short years later, he went through a major change some time during the course of his illness. He all of a sudden seemed to want to be with me, and talk to me. But the irony is that right about the time he stopped minding having me around, I couldn't care less for staying home and bonding. It's like we just missed each other's window of opportunity.
My Dad's passing changed everything. My Dad's death, as awful as it was, helped to sort out my priorities. It forever altered my focus, and helped me put God and family first. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that guilt played a big part in this, too. I felt very guilty, and I still do. I feel guilty that I wasn't able to read his cues, and guilty that I was so detached from him. It's kind of an odd way to learn a lesson. It's not like I ever had a heart-to-heart with my Dad. But it was a lesson learned through his experience. He didn't have to tell me. He showed me through his actions and his experience, and I learned it too, albeit later than I should have. It's a lasting lesson as well, as I can't think of a single important thing I've decided, or on which I've deliberated, for or against, that wasn't done so in light of this experience. Before any big decision, I ask myself, "How will this help or hinder us as a family?" Oftentimes this means doing something with the kids, and for the kids, even when I don't want to, and trying to keep the sighs and grunts down to a minimum.
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