This is what i want to know.
Who decided I’m the one to call the shots? I’m asking seriously. Because I’m 37 years old but when it comes to my dad, I’m still the child. My dads dr just called. To one more time, hit home that his biopsy shows “copious amounts of carcinoma”.
What a freakin word. Carcinoma.
This disgusting, incurable MONSTER that rips families apart and STEALS PEOPLE.
Literally, steals them.
My dad is smiling and happy.
And still writes me notes everyday.
But i know inside, he’s hurting. He won’t tell me but i know. I know him better than he knows himself, sometimes. He smiles because he knows he just can’t fool me.
But why do iiiiii have to make the decisions. Dad says, “when i get over this, we will go to Hawaii”
How do you say, “there is no ‘over this’!?”
I want to scream. SO LOUD. I WANT TO SCREAM WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??! We are good! He is good! He isn’t drinking! He isn’t angry! He cooked me beans and cornbread last night. He kisses me head every night before he goes to his room. He starts bossing me around the minute I make it outside and find him in the yard.
WE ARE GOOD! In our bubble.
In this castle I built, to keep us safe and protected.
We are good.
June 5th. His surgery is scheduled for June 5th unless I cancel it. It will NOT remove his cancer. THERE IS NO REMOVING IT. It will remove part of the 6+cm tumor on his liver to make him more comfortable. Palliative care, they call it.
He has a brain injury and very bad epilepsy, currently. We deal with seizures at least monthly. He doesn’t always tell me when they happen so i have tons of home cameras and I RUN to find when when I hear a loud noise or no noise. He shakes his head and laughs at me. Unless he falls. The bullet in his brain (from a teenage accident) has turned his brain to “mush” & can shift in a second. There is a chance he may not make it through surgery. And the surgery will not cure the cancer in his bile ducts.
A chance of what??!?!! And it won’t even take this away?!!
THEN HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO MAKE HIM DO IT??
I am strong.
Holy shit, i am strong.
But I cannot.
I cannot do this.
I cannot be responsible for this.
For these decisions.
I am the child.
I am Geralds daughter.
My God, ive repeated that a million times to a million people these last few weeks.
“Hi, we are calling to discuss your dad....”
Yeah, I know.
I do NOT mean to be selfish.
But I physically and emotionally and mentally feel like I am on the most insane rollercoaster of my life. My dad denies everything happening, says it’s a stomach bug & that he just gets light headed and says, “when I’m 74...”
When you are 74, you will be in the ground and I will be crying on some grass, begging you to come back and annoy the crap out of me or complain about my mess in the garage.
When you are 74, you won’t be here and I will still be sobbing, just like I am now.
But how do you say that to him?
I do not.
I cry here, in my room.
With Ben, rubbing my back. I don’t even like it when he does that but i know he’s so sad too.
And i don’t want to say anything because i can’t imagine Ben losing HIS best friend and watching his wife sob uncontrollably, daily. My dad has lived with us in 3 different homes, for the last 10+ years. Daily, we wake up to the smell of his coffee and the sound of his weed eater. Usually, right by my window at the time Dad seems, i should be awake. Always earlier than I want. 🙄
And now, those days left are numbered.
Why do I have to choose which way we go?
What if I make the wrong choice?
I will have to live with that forever.
Other people will be affected besides me.
I don’t want to do this.
I want to hide.
I want to work until I can’t stand up.
I want this to be a horrible nightmare we wake up from.
I want to get out of my bed and walk into my Pop’s room and see him jump when I feel his chest, like I do everyday, to make sure he’s still breathing. I want him to roll his eyes because “you worry too much, Becky!” I want to repeat that for 30 more years. I want to get on a plane and go to Hawaii and see my dads face light up when a pretty Hawaiian girl places a lei around his neck. I want him to see the black sandy beach and walk in the cold water. I want him to sip a fruity drink that he makes fun of but secretly enjoys. He loves sweets.
I want to not be the decision maker.
I’ve been his decision maker for 16 years.
For 16 years, he comes to me for all things.
Money, a car, a place to live, work.
I’ve been his keeper for exactly half of my life.
And I’ve always been able to fix everything.
I want to take this all away.
And fix it.
He depends on me.
I want to not care about what I want and do what he wants.
But I want him to want to.
And he won’t.
He will deny it and say, he will be fine.
Like he does.
And I’ll have to make the call.
So, how am I supposed to know what to do?
Because I do not.
Please make this nightmare stop.
Please. I’m begging.