What it Feels Like

To look at your Daddy, a man who used to stand almost 7 feet tall, scare all of your friends until they realized his only weapon is sarcasm, who used to read me Billy Goats Gruff time after time after time just because it was my favorite, who used to sit in the stands of every game I ever played in, who used to be so physically strong and happy and level headed...

And see him today... Hunched over, bed bathed since December because he cannot stand long enough to shower, body half metal and riddled with cancer, frail, weak, depressed, mouth full of chemo sores that impede his ability to chew, the sounds of agony when he has to move... Even cough... A sneeze brings tears...



(Daddy with me 1 year before cancer)



To see that, every day, does something to you. It angers you, it frightens you, it saddens you in a way that cannot be properly described with words, but it lights a fire in you. A fire of determination like no other. A fire that allows you to continue on with your life somehow. You're able to be happy, just to help him bathe, fix him lunch after you clean up his breakfast, to just sit and read with him, to watch Netflix or hours day after day just to have something to do, even just to watch him sleep... You're happy just to be with him, and that's enough.


(Daddy with me 5 months after cancer, using the car to help him stand long enough to take the picture)



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