
Over the last three years I've been lucky enough to see him be a great grandfather to my kids. I love catching him getting down onto the floor (not an easy feat for an old man!) to play trains with Leo, or making silly faces at Zoe. He compulsively buys them books - even though the piles and piles of books are over taking both his house and mine. I'd be annoyed by this, except he also reads these books to them - keeping them entertained for the length of at least a daily shower when I'm visiting - and sometimes even a nap. I can *see* him love them. It's incredible. And they love him back.
My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago - when were in Pittsburgh for the kids' birthday party, actually. We knew it was coming - there had been signs and we didn't think we were in store for good news. But during that weekend of the party it felt like stolen time. We knew it was coming, but it wasn't official. The shoe hadn't dropped, it was just kind of hovering in mid air. There was nothing to do except focus on celebrating the kids and enjoying the time together. We prepared food, made decorations, spent time with family and friends, laughed, and even sang. I suppose in some ways we had the pending diagnosis hanging over our heads, but that's not what I remember looking back now - just a few short weeks later. That time feels like a gift - a limbo where all we could to do was live in the moment and take some pictures to remember the day.
Now, that's not to say I wasn't having feelings. Oh, there were feelings. There still are. They are mostly ugly - a lot of anger. Some irrational irritation. Mostly sadness. I worry about my dad facing this. I worry about my mom - she will be strong not only for him, but for me and my siblings. I worry about my sisters and my brother. They are younger than I am and at different places in their lives. I worry about my kids - my kids who are too young to understand serious illness. My sweet boy who keeps suggesting drinking water, rest and hugs to make grandpa feel better because that's the only level of hurt he's ever really known. But I'm also worried about myself... because I'm not ready.
My dad started chemo yesterday. I talked to him on the phone after his first session and he seemed upbeat. We joked about how he doesn't have much hair to lose. I'm scared. I'm sure he is, too. I'm torn between dropping everything here in Philly to set up camp in Pittsburgh for the foreseeable future and trying to go on with life as normally as possible. I imagine I'll settle on a balance of visiting more often while trying to have a good summer for the kids.
I love my dad. Whether I'm ready or not, I'm going to be here for him. For my mom. And for my siblings. We've got each other. It's going to suck - I don't think there's a way around that, but none of us are alone.
I've read your blog for a few years now. As a brown woman of color I assume my journey through parenthood will be somewhat similar to mine. Thank you for sharing your life/beautiful family with the world. I wish you and your family the best as you go through this difficult time!
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