Cancer

Cancer is a scary word. I've heard it used so often by different circles and with a variety of outcomes, but it has never been as immediate and personal as it is now. To hear "cancer" in the same sentence as "father", to see the person you love most weaken and diminish before your eyes, to make hospital visits a part of everyday life; all these things I would not wish upon anyone, and I am still surprised it has suddenly hit home--that "cancer" is no longer a faceless, distant entity but a word that now must be used to explain the state of a man whom you admire above all else, and whose mortality suddenly appears to be threatened. In a few weeks everything has been turned upside down and I have been struggling to keep it all right side up. And yet it hasn't fully sunken in yet. Reality is absorbed in increments, with moments of clarity and concentrated emotion. I am crying now because it has taken me days to find time to verbalize how I am feeling. It has taken me days to allow myself to feel.

There are so many things that I hope and wish. I want his chemotherapy to cure him. I want him to heal. I want him to live.