On Oct. 24, 2008, my life as I knew it turned upside down. It started out like every other morning, but when I arrived home from school that evening, I would be told that my dad had cancer. I have learned many things since that day but having a parent with cancer teaches you more about love, life and loss than you could ever experience otherwise.
When you are told that your parent has cancer, you don’t really believe it. It doesn’t matter how old you are. You have the belief that your parents are invincible and suddenly you realize that they aren’t. It is a suffocating blow that you never wanted to experience. Your foundation crumbles. Your mind fills with questions:
“Do I cry in front of them? No, I need to be strong.”
“Do I pretend I’m okay? No, that will make them think that I am not emotional about this.”
In reality, the rest of the day becomes a blur and ends with you lying on the floor in your room too numb to do anything.
Having a parent with cancer means that you wake up every morning wondering if it could be the last day you ever see your dad alive. It means walking over to his bed or chair while he is sleeping just to check that he is still breathing. It means walking in from school off the bus and your dad not moving in his chair. It means thinking “this is it. I am about to discover my dad’s body,” then sobbing when he jumps up startled that you snuck in on him, because you are happy to know he is alive for one more day.
Cancer means chemo and all the ups and downs your family experiences with it. On my 15th birthday, I watched the effects of my dad starting chemo. Every birthday afterwards is marked with another year I have had to watch my dad suffer from the drug that is keeping him alive; this painful memory and reminder of my innocence that was lost that day always marks my birthday.
When you have a parent with cancer, everything triggers an emotional breakdown. You spend so much time holding yourself together for your dad and mom that you break apart over the smallest of things when you are away from their concerned gaze. You might be out with your friends and end up crying over a joke they make at your expense. Your friends are angry at first that you can’t take a joke, but when they realize your true feelings, they end up using the rest of the night to let you cry on their shoulder as you sob over and over, “I don’t want my dad to die.”
Yet, you realize that your friends don’t have the words to say to make everything better. You want them to. You want someone – anyone – to have the magic wand that makes everything better. When you realize no one does, you have to accept that sometimes the best comfort is from the silence your friends offer you instead when you just need someone to hold your hand to get you through countless panic attacks.
The ones that come…
When you are a senior in high school and are told that your dad is not going to make it to your graduation.
When you realize that he could miss seeing you fulfill your dreams when you get into your dream school.
When you think about the possibility of him never seeing you succeed in your career.
When you think about him never meeting your future husband.
When you imagine your wedding day without him walking you down the aisle.
When you break down over the idea of him never holding his grandchildren.
You need people in your life to get you through these realizations, and you have to humble yourself to accept the help that people offer you in ways that they know how. Even if that help doesn’t come from the people who promised to be there in the beginning.
Because having a parent with cancer means finding out who your real friends are.
Like…
Who is going to listen to you cry over the same fears instead of telling you to get over them?
Who is going to pick you up when you are lying on the floor wanting the emotional pain just to stop and not walk over you?
Who will talk you out of doing stupid things to get rid of the pains that haunt you instead of using your emotions against you?
Who will promise to walk you down the aisle one day if your dad can’t while also giving you hope that he will?
Who gives you the hope to get through one more day instead of leaving you to face them on your own?
Yet, having a parent with cancer also means that you can’t rely on the doctor’s predictions either.
The doctor who gave your dad three years to live is the same one who watches him walk into his office once a month eight years later.
The doctor who removed his first tumor that tragically died before him.
The doctor who said his heart would fail yet has seen his heart hang in there against all odds.
The doctor who told him that he would lose his hair, humor, personality, and everything in between that laughs at my dad’s jokes every time they get together. He realizes that my dad has more hair than he does. He knows my dad’s personality has never wavered one second.
In the end, having a parent with cancer has taught me these things… My dad on the other hand has taught me more.
He taught me how to be brave in the midst of fear.
How to never let someone set a time limit on my life.
How to live every second to the fullest.
How to make memories over the little things.
How to laugh even with tears streaming down your face.
How it is okay to not be okay.
How to never give up.
How to never let go.
And most importantly:
How to never end a day without saying “I love you.”
How to never let a holiday or birthday go by without making memories to last a lifetime.
How to make time for the ones who matter.
And how to love with every ounce in me.
In the end, when my dad passes from this world into the next from cancer or whatever it may be, it will be these memories that I hold on to. It will be his strength, love and faith that I will pass down to my children. It will be these times that I will look back on and realize that they were some of my favorite memories of my dad and me, because it was in these last eight years that I have learned life lessons from him and about myself that I would have never learned otherwise all from one scary word: cancer.
