Shocked again.

I had this crazy realization today.

I called my dad to check up on him today. Hospice came to see him and my mom yesterday and I think reality is hitting pretty hard. He had an appointment last Tuesday to sit down with his oncologist and talk about progress, prognosis, and further treatment plans. He was told that he had "3 to 6 months or less". Less? Less by what? No one knows. Problem is that there wasn't a scan done between the last one that resulted in my dad no longer participating in the clinical trials and him starting chemo over a month later. So on Tuesday he was told that the cancer had grown even more. No one knows whether the growth occured during that hiatus from treatment or during the chemo or both. So nobody knows if the chemo was effective at all. My dad is now receiving radiation to his shoulder to try and alleviate the pain he is experiencing due to the cancer that is now in the bone. They are no longer doing chemo. I know my dad was considering stopping chemo and I know that there was a question to whether or not he could receive chemo and radiation at the same time. So I am unsure if his stopping of chemo was his choice or because it is not recommended to be taken at the same time as the radiation. Regardless, his prognosis is not good, there is no evidence that the chemo was doing him any good, and it was causing some not so great side effects.

So when I talked to him this afternoon the first minute covered these topics: when Eddy and I are getting married, when he'd see me again. He seemed almost frantic about these things. And then nothing, he was crying. I asked if he was okay and then my mom came on the line. She said he feels like the doctors have turned him over to "the death camp" and that he has been pretty emotional a most of the day. I don't know the exact number of people, but apparently when hospice came yesterday there was a group of them. It probably hit him pretty hard. Which maybe seems silly, since we've had this shitty prognosis since February. But I sure can relate. I realized, he's going. He's crying to have me near. I'm losing him. Everyone is losing him. He's losing us. Now I'm in a frantic "when can I get there, how can I get there, what about the bills, etc." state. Since his diagnosis I've been going about my life waiting for the signal. Waiting for the signal telling me I needed to go and precisely how long I could continue to keep my head in the clouds. Almost, just maybe in denial. I know he's sick, I have the picture of him as a frail, skinny, hurting man in my mind from the last visit, but it is absolutely incomprehensible that he will be in worse shape when I see him again. I don't want to believe it. It would be one thing if his happy spirit, his strong mind, and his laughter were the same, but those get worse too, despite his and everybody's efforts to keep his mind, heart, and soul healthy. I have thought frequently throughout today that this has to be the worst thing ever. Losing someone you love, watching them feel defeated mentally and physically, hearing the tears of the strongest person you've ever known. It is truly, the biggest heartache, the most pain, that I have ever felt. I just wish that I could cuddle up to him and watch something on TV with him that I used to complain about watching. I just want to squeeze him and to cry with my face pressed against his chest. The solid body and sensible mind that has always been my dad will hold me up and keep me safe, that is what I want to believe.

Eddy and I sat down this afternoon and mapped out any issues that needed to be addressed, any plans that needed to be made before I leave. It made me feel better. Eddy also makes me feel better. I am very lucky to have such an understanding and loving person in my life. He is my best friend. I will cherish every moment of our life together. That's one realization from my dad's illness that has been very enlightening. Enjoy the wonderful things/times/people. Even enjoy the not so wonderful. They are only guaranteed present in your life for the current moment. While being away from him for an extended period of time will be hard, I know he will be there when I return. I know that he will still love me when I get back. I have faith in that. I know I've said this before, but Eddy is only the 2nd man in my life to show me love, treat me with true respect, to always be honest and communicate openly with me, and to love me in a way that makes me know, with certainty, that he loves me more than he could ever love anyone else. He is genuine. Just like my dad. He is there; solid and sensible when neither myself or my dad can be.