I’ve thought for a long time about writing. What I would say, what do I want to remember, what story needs to be told, is it worth it. Do I write about my Dad or do I just write about my own feelings? Do I tell the story from my own perspective?
I don’t know. I don’t have answers for this. No one has answers for this. Because it is bigger and harder and more than you can imagine.
I was there December 20th in the Emergency Room when the doctor told my parents that my Dad has brain cancer. I knew what Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM) was. I let my mother cling to my hand as they delivered this news to my parents, while I swayed with Lilliana on my hip. I was the one who answered my my moms phone and told my older brother we needed him here. That we all needed to be here. Every single one of my siblings changed every single one of their plans so we could be together for Christmas...and so we could all be here Christmas Eve when my Daddy had a large tumor removed from his brain.
I’m not sure I’m even ready to write about that day. I’m not sure I can do it from my phone. I’m not sure I can convey the love that that waiting room felt or how when one of us said “we need to pray”, how it saturated in the Spirit it all felt. No words can describe those things.
My husband and I moved in with my mom and dad. Every one keeps telling me how selfless that is but the truth is, I’m selfish. I want to walk up the stairs and hug my Daddy. I want my kids to see him every day. I want Lilliana to hear his voice and know it. I want to see Dean hug him and Ellie climb into his lap and snuggle him. I want to sit with him and watch the History Channel with him. I want to joke him and laugh with him and cry when it becomes too big and too scary.
I keep painting with blue. It’s all over my journals and paintings. Not because of sadness but because blue is a color my Daddy can see. He’s always, always been a huge fan and supporter of my art. I want him to see how it’s carrying me through this.
You know when we found out about all this, I got angry. Not for the normal reasons. I felt like we had *just* done all this. It was only a year ago we were helping Dean recover from his third heart surgery. I thought we were done withsurgeries for a while. With hospitals.
I am tired. That bone weary tired that you don’t feel 24/7, but man when it hits, it his hard. And I do not understand. I don’t understand why it’s my Daddy, our family who has been chosen to limp through this. That’s what I feel I’m doing. Limping. There is no walking here. Just a slow and stumbling limp. Ragged and rough to watch. But forward. And definitely not alone.
Never in my whole life have I ever been so thankful for the strength and bond my family has. I love to see how each of my siblings strength is being called upon. I love seeing Benjamin help organize us and how he checks on each of us. I love seeing Nate’s heart wide open and willing to listen when I need it. I love seeing how amazing my brother Josh is with the legalities and finances of all of this. I love seeing Zeb working so hard and taking over the things he can so our Daddy doesn’t have to worry. I love seeing Evelynn come to the house as often as she can to sit and snuggle with her Daddy, she is most definitely his girl. I love how brave and beautiful my baby sister is, forging ahead with her plans and life and praying so diligently for our Daddy. Not to mention my amazing sisters in law, between grocery trips and helping my mother get organized...the three of them amaze me. And my
Nieces and Nephews. This tribe of people who have banded together in love.
We’re all limping through this together.
And that gives me a Peace I can’t even explain.
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