Because F**k You cancer. That's why.
Have you ever lost your phone? Like actually lost it? It's mild panic. What if school calls me (which they never do, but they might)? What if I miss a text from someone who needs me urgently (which no one does)? What about that email with shipping confirmation for that stupid Hatchimal that everyone is dying for this Christmas (totally scored one the day Halloween on the shelf at Walmart... she hasn't even asked for it but she's getting it anyway)? My Dad lost his phone this morning in an Uber car on the way to the airport in Birmingham.
They were in Birmingham for what was a modicum of hope. I actually said last week 'I mean, all of the doctors have said the same things... so I can't imagine this one will be different.' But saying it and believing it are different. We had hope. We hoped that the people at UAB would have some magic unicorn rainbow pill she could take and we could be done with this nightmare. We had a little hope. That hope is gone. At best we are looking at a year.
Do you know how fast a year goes by? I have an 8 year old who I gave birth to last week. And we have a year? A year? Do you know how many laughs we have to cram into a year? Do you know how many pictures we have to take and videos we have to record and memories we have to etch in our brains for eternity? Do you know how many times I have to hug her so hard I'm afraid I will hurt her? A lot.
My Dad lost his phone (thanks to a kind southern Uber driver who more than once told me to relax and that it would be fine... and some relatively competent Fedex employees we solved that from South Florida) which would under normal circumstances leave any of us feeling lost, panicked. So what do you do when you lose part of yourself? Part of your world?
A week before Christmas I'm ugly crying into a glass of sav blanc. And I can't seem to stop. We had hit a stride. And every time we hear 'it' again, we are crushed by the blow of the words. By the finality of it all. We will fight our way back up. But for now, I need to wallow in the gutter for at least a few more hours.
Because fuck you cancer. That's why.
Side note. I know I am not the first person on the planet to lose a parent early (or earlier than we had planned on). I hope none of this comes across as though I'm throwing myself a pity party. I mean I would attend if someone threw me one... but never having navigated these waters, it's all very new. I know our lives will go on with her tucked firmly in all of our pockets, ingrained in our minds and hearts... I'm just not ready for that.
They were in Birmingham for what was a modicum of hope. I actually said last week 'I mean, all of the doctors have said the same things... so I can't imagine this one will be different.' But saying it and believing it are different. We had hope. We hoped that the people at UAB would have some magic unicorn rainbow pill she could take and we could be done with this nightmare. We had a little hope. That hope is gone. At best we are looking at a year.
Do you know how fast a year goes by? I have an 8 year old who I gave birth to last week. And we have a year? A year? Do you know how many laughs we have to cram into a year? Do you know how many pictures we have to take and videos we have to record and memories we have to etch in our brains for eternity? Do you know how many times I have to hug her so hard I'm afraid I will hurt her? A lot.
My Dad lost his phone (thanks to a kind southern Uber driver who more than once told me to relax and that it would be fine... and some relatively competent Fedex employees we solved that from South Florida) which would under normal circumstances leave any of us feeling lost, panicked. So what do you do when you lose part of yourself? Part of your world?
A week before Christmas I'm ugly crying into a glass of sav blanc. And I can't seem to stop. We had hit a stride. And every time we hear 'it' again, we are crushed by the blow of the words. By the finality of it all. We will fight our way back up. But for now, I need to wallow in the gutter for at least a few more hours.
Because fuck you cancer. That's why.
Side note. I know I am not the first person on the planet to lose a parent early (or earlier than we had planned on). I hope none of this comes across as though I'm throwing myself a pity party. I mean I would attend if someone threw me one... but never having navigated these waters, it's all very new. I know our lives will go on with her tucked firmly in all of our pockets, ingrained in our minds and hearts... I'm just not ready for that.
Evan's schoolmate lost his dad to cancer last week. A young, energetic, "healthy", successful professor. With two young kids and a wonderfully beautiful wife. Yep- fuck you cancer. We will get you one day.
ReplyDeleteLove and hugs to you and yours, Corey! -Sarah T
I just read above, Hagen's schoolmate also had a mom that she just lost to cancer. So yep, f**k you cancer. Its not fair sweet friend. You have such a way with words. I am certain you are not only helping yourself through this but someone else stumbling across your words. I wish I could change this for your family. XO
ReplyDeleteBig hugs to you, Corey. And, yes, absolutely, fuck cancer.
ReplyDelete