A strange and mournful day
I heard a song on the radio the other day that I had not heard in a long time, by one of my favourite artists, Paul Simon. It's been running through my head off and on since then.
"No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away..."
Little did I know how true it would turn out to be. Strange and mournful indeed.
Although "42 Main Street, version 2.0: Keeping it Real" has been far more balanced than version 1.0 was in talking about both joy and pain, success and failure, there is one aspect of my life I have not discussed on the blog before now. My intention has never been, nor will it ever be, to use the blog for airing dirty laundry.
The observant among you may have noticed that while I mention spending time with Derek's family somewhat regularly, there is never any mention of spending time with my own. As some of you know, my family and I haven't really been on speaking terms for going on the last four years. It's a long story, but the conflict largely centers on my choice of Derek as my life partner.
My mother called me last night. My father asked her to phone me. I've heard through the grapevine that he has been sick off and on for the last year but until recently, the prognosis was cautiously optimistic, and although I sent flowers and a letter after his most recent bout, I have otherwise kept my distance. So if he is asking for me now, he knows he is very ill. His doctor has shared his full diagnosis with my mother, but has not told him yet -- my dad will probably find out today. He is hospitalized in my hometown of Windsor, Ontario. It seems he has inoperable bile duct cancer, and it appears to have spread. His liver and kidneys are failing. They don't know how long he might have left to live, but it looks "very bad." There is no treatment -- no transplants, no chemo, no radiation. All they can do is keep him comfortable.
Derek and I are driving down to Windsor today. My mother has made it categorically clear that under no circumstances are she and my sister or my father to see Derek, although she understands I need him to drive me and to be there for me afterward. I hope one day my family can set aside old conflicts and see Derek for the good man he is.
I love my father. I remember in grade nine English, we were to write an essay about our hero. I wrote about my dad.
He is 62 years old -- he'll be 63 on December 1st. So young. From the sounds of it, he may not live to meet any future grandchildren he might have.
I would ask that you spare a thought and a prayer for my father in the next while -- if you are the praying kind, pray for a healing miracle, or failing that, pray for a merciful, dignified death for my dad.
And any words of wisdom, kindness, or encouragement you might have for me would be really welcome right now. I need to know that my father is in people's thoughts and prayers, and I could use your support.
I sent an email about this to every friend I could think of on my contact list yesterday, and I posted a note on Facebook too. I have already been flooded with the kindest messages in response. I have read and cherished every one. Thank you so much -- I can feel the warmth and strength surrounding me, and feel better prepared to face this hard day. We are taking the laptop with us, and the hotel provides internet access. I'll respond personally as time permits, but right now I just want you all to know how much I appreciate your support and your good thoughts for my father. It means the world to me.
"No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away..."
Little did I know how true it would turn out to be. Strange and mournful indeed.
Although "42 Main Street, version 2.0: Keeping it Real" has been far more balanced than version 1.0 was in talking about both joy and pain, success and failure, there is one aspect of my life I have not discussed on the blog before now. My intention has never been, nor will it ever be, to use the blog for airing dirty laundry.
The observant among you may have noticed that while I mention spending time with Derek's family somewhat regularly, there is never any mention of spending time with my own. As some of you know, my family and I haven't really been on speaking terms for going on the last four years. It's a long story, but the conflict largely centers on my choice of Derek as my life partner.
My mother called me last night. My father asked her to phone me. I've heard through the grapevine that he has been sick off and on for the last year but until recently, the prognosis was cautiously optimistic, and although I sent flowers and a letter after his most recent bout, I have otherwise kept my distance. So if he is asking for me now, he knows he is very ill. His doctor has shared his full diagnosis with my mother, but has not told him yet -- my dad will probably find out today. He is hospitalized in my hometown of Windsor, Ontario. It seems he has inoperable bile duct cancer, and it appears to have spread. His liver and kidneys are failing. They don't know how long he might have left to live, but it looks "very bad." There is no treatment -- no transplants, no chemo, no radiation. All they can do is keep him comfortable.
Derek and I are driving down to Windsor today. My mother has made it categorically clear that under no circumstances are she and my sister or my father to see Derek, although she understands I need him to drive me and to be there for me afterward. I hope one day my family can set aside old conflicts and see Derek for the good man he is.
I love my father. I remember in grade nine English, we were to write an essay about our hero. I wrote about my dad.
He is 62 years old -- he'll be 63 on December 1st. So young. From the sounds of it, he may not live to meet any future grandchildren he might have.
I would ask that you spare a thought and a prayer for my father in the next while -- if you are the praying kind, pray for a healing miracle, or failing that, pray for a merciful, dignified death for my dad.
And any words of wisdom, kindness, or encouragement you might have for me would be really welcome right now. I need to know that my father is in people's thoughts and prayers, and I could use your support.
I sent an email about this to every friend I could think of on my contact list yesterday, and I posted a note on Facebook too. I have already been flooded with the kindest messages in response. I have read and cherished every one. Thank you so much -- I can feel the warmth and strength surrounding me, and feel better prepared to face this hard day. We are taking the laptop with us, and the hotel provides internet access. I'll respond personally as time permits, but right now I just want you all to know how much I appreciate your support and your good thoughts for my father. It means the world to me.
6 Comments:
I am so sorry to hear about your sad news - my thoughts are with you and your family and I hope he and all of you have some comfort.
Lisa, no matter how rocky our relationship with ou rparents, we always harbor a desire that someday there would be healing and love. I'm sorry that your dad's illness is so acute, and that so much of your healing must be done in such a short window of time. I hope that you find some peace with him, and that you rely on whatever happy memories of your dad you can muster.
Thinking of you, praying for your father, and here for you as a friend.
LC
Long ago a teacher of mine told the class that her sister was gravely ill (a very young girl) about my own age at the time (Grade 7) and even then I was surprised when in our public school she asked us all to bow our heads and pray for her sister. It has never left me how hard it must have been for her to ask people to pray for her family, but in recent years I have done the same and felt buoyed by the knowledge that people were thinking of my loved one...I hope you feel the positive energy for your father and you and your family...it is powerful...thinking of you...
Prayers & hugs. There is love.
I'm so sorry about your dad -- it's so hard to cope with any parent's illness, and worse when the relationship is strained or ambivalent. I wish you strength and peace, and I'm holding good thoughts for your whole family.
I'm sending out some prayers for your father and family and will be happy to continue praying for all involved. I also will send you some extra love and support while you go through this difficult time. fiberfool from knitty.
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