When I was two years old, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The cancer started in her saliva glands, and so she went through extensive radiation until she went into remission several years later. I remember her leaving for doctors appointments, not knowing where she was going, or if she was coming back. I used to sit and scream at the back door, crying, waiting. One of my most prominent memories of my mother was that she always had a bottle of coca-cola, and chap-stick, because the radiation left her mouth permanently dry.
She was Re-diagnosed when I was 8, a little older, this came as a quite a blow. The next two years consisted of many treatments, surgeries, doctors, hospitals. My mom was sick for so long, but she was still the kindest, most generous, and most alive person I've every met. I never doubted that she would beat her cancer. This time brought me and my dad very close.. so much waiting together.
She died a few months before my 11th birthday, on my brother's 13th birthday. I was having a sleep over, we were watching Annie. My sister came and told me we had to go home, she was scared, and I knew something had happened without her telling me. I remember picking out my shoes for my mom's funeral, and standing in the snowy cemetery. I remember 97 missed calls on the phone. I remember waking up one morning and finding our kitchen full of food that people had left. People seem to think casserole is the answer to grief.
After she passed, it was mostly just me and my dad. I don't remember my siblings being around much, though a lot of that time is hazy. My dad took me and my brother to England the following autumn, to visit our sisters, and to take our minds off of things. My dad became my best friend, my confidante, my hero. We did everything together. I had anxiety attacks over staying at other peoples houses for years, afraid that something would happen to my dad while I was gone.
When I was 17, my dad remarried. This was extremely difficult for me, learning to share my dad, my space, and my life. I felt like I was losing precious time with him as I finished my senior year, and prepared for University.
I'm 20 now, and have recently completed my 2nd year of University. Several weeks before finals, my dad called and told me that he had been diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, it's aggressive, there's no treatment. I had no idea how to study for exams, and focus on school when every part of me wanted to drive home just to make sure that he was really still there. The doctors say 3 years, but of course I know that they're just guessing.
To be completely honest, I can't believe this is happening. My dad is the only parent I've ever really know, and I'm scared. Scared of not having any one to turn to for comfort, scared to be alone. I have no expectations in writing all of this down, I just thought maybe if it existed somewhere outside of myself, it would make more sense.
