My friend went to the doctor's recently because she was tired of the pain. She's had a long relationship with various physical maladies and discomfort, but she bears it well - probably too well. She's a non-complainer, and I admire her, but it didn't erase the fact that something was going on in her body that required exploration. After a battery of tests and several days of worry prompted by the doctor's use of the "C" word, it was a relief to get the news that although she has a condition that requires surgery, she is cancer-free. She came in to my office today to tell me about it, and we shared a hug in celebration.
In the meantime, a family friend was diagnosed with bone cancer. The notion of this burly man, who five years ago, lifted a refrigerator right before my eyes, now being relegated to treatments and support groups with no hope of truly getting better, breaks our hearts. And it continues to stun me, though I've known since I was a little girl, that we all must die.
And now, the bad news has moved even closer to home. My mother called the other evening to tell me that my dad fell and broke his pelvis. Already in a delicate condition due to congestive heart disease, I realize his prognosis is not good. He has a loving wife and six children who adore him, but none of us can undo the fall. We can't be at the hospital because we don't live nearby. My mother, who has been married to my dad for sixty-three years, must travel back and forth from the hospital alone every day. There are many hours when he is at the hospital, in a strange place being cared for by strangers.
He wants out of there. He pulled out his IV. He can't sleep. He tries to get out of bed. He'll be sent to rehab (read: nursing home) for God knows how long. The one thing he dreaded, going to a nursing home facility, is now a reality. I have a lot of faith, but it's easy right now to say that I don't understand "why." How do we live our lives only to come to this? I know I'm not the first person to ask this question. But rather than bemoaning our family situation and my dad's health, I choose to send him love. And I'll keep a little for myself.
I imagine that when I visit him next week, I might bring a few recordings of his favorite music and just let it play softly in his room. A few years ago, my brother gave Daddy an iPod. My brother had loaded it with my dad's favorite music - Sinatra, '40s tunes, swing. My brother placed the iPod in his hands. My dad thanked him and gave a listen. "Can I take this thing to heaven with me?" he asked.
