I’ve debated for the last two days whether or not to write this entry.
After all, it’s supposed to be focused on my writing journey. To add more personal entries seems, well, selfish. My readers aren’t interested in the mundane or too personal events in my life. If it’s something that’s emotional seems manipulative.
But it’s also dishonest. No life is perfect, full of nothing but happiness and joy. There are sad and even devastating moments.
And isn’t that what writing is? About life in all it’s beauty and ugliness?
I have to remind myself that you might be as interested in the darker moments of my life. In this case, I’m taking the chance.
And there are a few things I need to talk about, not because I’m looking for sympathy but to know I’m not alone.
My dad has been fighting what appeared to be bronchitis for the last month or so. After the third doctor visit and more tests including chest x-rays, the doctor called him Christmas day and told him to go to the hospital immediately.
They found spots on his lungs that turned out to be pulmonary embolisms — blood clots. However, after more tests they found a cancerous and inoperable tumor on his pancreas.
He found out for certain today he might see one more Christmas.
As his daughter, he was always a strong constant in my life. I could always count on him being there, even if a few states away.
The last few days has been a harsh realization that he won’t always be around, that he won’t see his grandson grow up. My son’s memories of his grandfather will be short and will fade to the point he may not even remember him by the time he enters school. My son’s only knowledge of his grandfather will be what his parents share about him and pictures we’ve taken of them together.
It’s not enough.
But there’s not one thing I can do about it except make sure we spend as much time together as possible. In fact in mid-January we’re taking a trip to Colorado to spend about four days with him. I hope that’s but one trip out of many.
My only prayer is that my dad embraces his last days with joy and leaves this world in God’s loving and eternal arms.
7 thoughts on “It’s about life — beautiful and ugly life.”
Oh, Andra, my heart is bleeding for you!
I lost my dad many, many years ago, but some days the pain is just as real and present as if it happened yesterday. That isn’t probably what you want to hear. What you might take from it, though, is our memories can hold all the preciousness of a life far into the future, even if we only know that life here in the present for a little while.
We do not grieve as those who have no hope, but we can grieve. Sorrow comes in waves. Ride them out, and you find joy on the other side.
I will be praying for you and your family. If you ever need to talk…
I’ll take the truth over “what I want to hear” any day.
As for the memories, in the end that’s all we have. I have many and will gain more over the next year or so that I hope to never forget or take for granted. None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, so it’s best to cherish today. My son teaches me that every day.
I’m so so sorry to hear that Andra.
Andra, I’m so sorry. If your father believes in Christ then there will be a reunion, but this can seem like cold comfort right now. I’m just so sorry.
Oh Andra, I’m so sorry. There’s nothing more I can say that will help, but I will be thinking of you and your family. And the stories you tell your son about his grandfather will help him be real for him even if he is so young.
Thank you, Amy and Loraine.
We’re taking everything one day at a time.