This tooth of truth

Saturday, May 22, 2004

I think a lot of what it is with me right now is fear. I am paralyzed by the thought of my dad dying. I can't describe everything that is swimming around right now. Simple dumb things set me off. I just updated my virus definitions, and as I watched the progress bar, I was reminded of my dad's piece of crap computer that won't even make it through a definition download without crashing and how he always said that when he got the inheritance he was buying a new car and a new computer. Then he got sick. He still bought the new car. He really had no choice. But last time I was over there helping him out on the computer, he said "this is the last one I'll ever have." What the hell do you do with that?

I never thought my family would be dealing with terminal illness. We've dealt with chronic illness for over 10 years now. But that's somewhat controlled. And it's not terminal. Cancer is terminal. And I get no comfort from thinking that the final finale is not today or tomorrow. That we know nothing about how long it will be. The passage of time is excruciating right now. I used to believe that time heals all wounds. But right now it's ripping the wounds open and spitting venom into them. How dramatic of me (surprise) to say, but it's true.

I wish I knew that there was something that would give me comfort or respite. But when I say that it sounds so selfish. What I really want is my dad to have respite. What I really want is for the cancer to be killed without it taking my dad. It makes me feel desperate. Damn.


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