The C-Word
I think it’s been a long time coming to dive into my brain on this topic. Lately, the only time I get emotional and open up about what I’m about to share is when I’m REALLY drunk. However, when I’m sober, and someone asks about it, I usually brush it off with a polite dismissal because, truthfully, I don’t even know what to say. So, when I talk about “it,” I mean the c-word… cancer.
My dad is my everything. He has been the gravity that keeps me grounded when it feels like my world is falling apart. If you were to ask me about him, I’d tell you I love him so much and that he’s a great father. But if you really asked me about him, I’d say he’s the kind of man who would move planets for his kids. His love is so unconditional that you can feel it even when we live our adult lives far away. My dad is the reason I hold the values I do, and I will always look up to him as one of the most selfless people I know. I truly believe one of his purposes on this earth is to be an amazing father, and he has proven that time and time again.
So, you can imagine how everything froze in time when he broke the news to me about a year ago: he had been diagnosed with cancer. I still get choked up just thinking about it. I couldn’t stop crying for months. Last summer, whenever someone asked me about him after finding out, 99% of the time, I had to excuse myself and cry in another room. I know that cancer isn’t a death sentence; it’s not about that. It’s the fact that all my life, I’ve seen him as my superhero. In my eyes, he’s invincible, the hand that protects and takes care of us. Hearing that my superhero was sick with something so terrifying broke me.
It’s been so hard watching him change over the past year. His skin has dulled, his eyes look sleepier, and he’s lost so much weight. The first time I saw him after his diagnosis, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Knowing your hero is sick is one thing, but seeing it is something else entirely. Leaving home after that visit was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. That goodbye was soaked in tears and love. I didn’t want to let him go - I would’ve stayed forever in his embrace if I could.
Growing up and navigating adulthood can be exciting. Gaining independence and discovering who you are feels so rewarding. But I think everything comes at a price, and independence means leaving the nest. That’s been the hardest part of all of this - being so far away from him and feeling what I can best explain as guilt. I don’t have the privilege of seeing him every day like I did when I was younger. Phone calls never quite feel like enough, and there’s something so intimate and wholesome about sitting in the same room together in silence - something that can’t be replicated over the phone.
This isn’t exactly my story to tell, it’s his - but I think being in the circle of someone diagnosed with cancer is its own unique experience, and that part is my story to share. I carry so much weight when it comes to him and everything that’s been happening. I share this not for attention or pity but because I know others out there are going through/have gone through something similar. There’s so much comfort in knowing someone understands. Sometimes, there aren’t enough words to make it better. But empathy and understanding? That goes a long way.
“Rarely can a response make something better.
What makes something better is connection.”
