Sunday, July 25, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Ten hours of driving can make your mind kinda numb...
Sunday morning we woke up and met Jenny, Margi, Shannon, and Peter for breakfast at a casino in town called paradise falls. After the breakfast Jenny, Margi, and I made our way to Mt. Sentinal to hike to the ever famous "M" on the side of the mountain. I was a little nervous in retrospect, considering that the majority of this summer consists of me in a car driving my dad around. This was the first outdoors adventure I would have all summer! And my aunt Margi (who is 75) gets out way more often then I do.
We took it slow, using the time to chat and catch up on our distant stories about our lives to the other distant relative. I really liked having an afternoon with women. I don't realize it til too late sometimes, but living with three men I forget how good it feels to be around women. I had a bit of an identity crisis. "Oh ya... I'm a woman too..."
We reached the "M" sun kissed and accomplished. We stayed up there and chatted about other trails on the surrounding mountains and took pictures (soon to come) of our venture.
Back at uncle Joe's and aunt Margi's, we spent a good deal of time going through old family letters and chronoligies. My great-grandpa was a poet. Uncle Joe tells me that's where I get my love of writing. I had asked to read some of his work, and in the process we found old pictures, letters, and newspaper clippings from past years of our family. Some dating back to the early 1900's. I'm one of those relatives that has always felt a deep connection to my family. Including those I have never met. Listening to Joe and Jenny talk about grandpa carl made me sad to think I would never know him. But I feel so lucky to be able to be in touch with my WHOLE family. Jenny is actually my mom's cousin (their dad's were brothers) but how lucky to be able to be in contact with family that removed? You find out a lot about yourself. I would've never known so much about grandpa Carl if it wasn't for this weekend.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the mall with Jenny and Shannon (Dad and Joe stayed home to nap). It was fun to look for school clothes with shannon (17) and hear about her friends at school. I was taken back to being 17 and though it was only 4 years ago... how far things have come. It feels like a different life. A different world I used to live on. So strange to look back on those years and think of all the things I wanted and dreamed about... I only hope I haven't let that young 17 year old in me down.
Jenny and the kids left to drive back home to Wyomming, while dad and I had dinner at Joe and Margi's.
The next morning (Monday), dad was schduled to meet an old friend at the new Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation visitor center. My dad has been an active member of this foundation and even worked as a state chairman for awhile. He really enjoyed his "nickel tour" as he kept calling it. I think it's good for him to be able to look back on being apart of something larger than everyday living. It meant a lot to him to tell me about all the projects he helped on and committees he served on. But, as I have told him, he doesn't have to prove to me he did something. I want him to be proud of his accomplishments by himself.
We said goodbye to Missoula Monday afternoon and headed west. We pulled off the 90 in Coeur D'Aliene, Idaho and found a cute motel off Sherman ave. The town was full of families on vacations, groups of friends hanging out, and longboarders. For a Monday night there were a lot of people out and about so we decided to join them. Dad really wanted our last night of the trip to be a fun one, so we headed to the Coeur D'Aliene resort for dinner. There's a fine dining restaurant on the seventh floor that over looks the lake. It was beautiful. It was perfect. We ordered a very nice bottle of wine, shared a delicious shrimp cocktail, and indulged in our own seafood entree's. By the end our main course we were full to the brim!
We walked around just as the sun was setting and found a quaint little wine bar that was having live music. We spent the rest of the night there enjoying creme broulee and a guitarist who, you could tell, was very much into Damien Rice.
We woke slowly this morning taking our time to pack and load up the car for the last time. We met two of dad's old RMEF friends for lunch before heading out of town.
I felt like, though we were half way home, it took longer than it should've! But I was ready to be home in my own bed!
Though I am exhausted and tired and hope not to sit in a car quite awhile, I feel so lucky to have made this trip. It has taught me to stay patient with my dad and understand he's on a journey too. Different than mine and with different prayers.. but he's riding the wave. And I am here purposely to help him stay on it. To love him through it, and learn about him. Who he was and who he is, and still who he longs to be. Realizing my dad isn't a knight in shining armor, and he's not above me and he's not below me. That us, both being adults, both struggling through a tough year, both experienced in losing, both searching for a deeper meaning inside ourselves are here together for a reason. And after this beautiful trip it is more apparent to me that I am EXACTLY where I am supposed to be.
We took it slow, using the time to chat and catch up on our distant stories about our lives to the other distant relative. I really liked having an afternoon with women. I don't realize it til too late sometimes, but living with three men I forget how good it feels to be around women. I had a bit of an identity crisis. "Oh ya... I'm a woman too..."
We reached the "M" sun kissed and accomplished. We stayed up there and chatted about other trails on the surrounding mountains and took pictures (soon to come) of our venture.
Back at uncle Joe's and aunt Margi's, we spent a good deal of time going through old family letters and chronoligies. My great-grandpa was a poet. Uncle Joe tells me that's where I get my love of writing. I had asked to read some of his work, and in the process we found old pictures, letters, and newspaper clippings from past years of our family. Some dating back to the early 1900's. I'm one of those relatives that has always felt a deep connection to my family. Including those I have never met. Listening to Joe and Jenny talk about grandpa carl made me sad to think I would never know him. But I feel so lucky to be able to be in touch with my WHOLE family. Jenny is actually my mom's cousin (their dad's were brothers) but how lucky to be able to be in contact with family that removed? You find out a lot about yourself. I would've never known so much about grandpa Carl if it wasn't for this weekend.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the mall with Jenny and Shannon (Dad and Joe stayed home to nap). It was fun to look for school clothes with shannon (17) and hear about her friends at school. I was taken back to being 17 and though it was only 4 years ago... how far things have come. It feels like a different life. A different world I used to live on. So strange to look back on those years and think of all the things I wanted and dreamed about... I only hope I haven't let that young 17 year old in me down.
Jenny and the kids left to drive back home to Wyomming, while dad and I had dinner at Joe and Margi's.
The next morning (Monday), dad was schduled to meet an old friend at the new Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation visitor center. My dad has been an active member of this foundation and even worked as a state chairman for awhile. He really enjoyed his "nickel tour" as he kept calling it. I think it's good for him to be able to look back on being apart of something larger than everyday living. It meant a lot to him to tell me about all the projects he helped on and committees he served on. But, as I have told him, he doesn't have to prove to me he did something. I want him to be proud of his accomplishments by himself.
We said goodbye to Missoula Monday afternoon and headed west. We pulled off the 90 in Coeur D'Aliene, Idaho and found a cute motel off Sherman ave. The town was full of families on vacations, groups of friends hanging out, and longboarders. For a Monday night there were a lot of people out and about so we decided to join them. Dad really wanted our last night of the trip to be a fun one, so we headed to the Coeur D'Aliene resort for dinner. There's a fine dining restaurant on the seventh floor that over looks the lake. It was beautiful. It was perfect. We ordered a very nice bottle of wine, shared a delicious shrimp cocktail, and indulged in our own seafood entree's. By the end our main course we were full to the brim!
We walked around just as the sun was setting and found a quaint little wine bar that was having live music. We spent the rest of the night there enjoying creme broulee and a guitarist who, you could tell, was very much into Damien Rice.
We woke slowly this morning taking our time to pack and load up the car for the last time. We met two of dad's old RMEF friends for lunch before heading out of town.
I felt like, though we were half way home, it took longer than it should've! But I was ready to be home in my own bed!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Big Sky Country
After ten hours of my dad yelling at me for the radio being too loud, and me being too tired from staying up too late the night before, we made it to Montana. We rolled into town right around dinner time and I was in desperate need of a nice glass of wine. Our hotel is a block off Higgins so we stopped in at a small Italian bistro for dinner. The food was great, the wine was great and the sun was slowly fading. A block up from the bistro, in the park, there was a weekly concert series going on. I walked over there after my dad went to bed and listened to the music. It reminded me of being at point defiance in Tacoma. Hippies dancing, a beer garden, and bluesy music.
I love Missoula. It's beautiful, quiet, and quaint. The town is full of people in their twenties. Some going to school, some experiencing the great country side and others who were born and raised.
The next morning we drove out to deerlodge to visit with my grandma Eileen's sister's. My grandma passed away almost two years ago and we buried her in hometown of Helmville, Montana. She has four sisters still alive, and even in their elderly age, they are so full of life. We met at my great aunt Marie's place and had coffee. My aunt Lois and Jean soon followed. We talked about the family, caught up about the weather, and discussed small town gossip. My aunt Jean stopped mid conversation, looked me up and down and declared, "you look just like your grandmother in her young age." People have always told me I look like a 50/50 split of both my parents, but that the boys (cody and jake) look more like my mom's side. But I was pleased to hear that I resembled my grandmother, as I have always envied her courageous spirit and great sense of humor. She was a go-getter and didn't take shit from anyone. She raised her children almost on her own, and still experienced life all to her liking. I always think to myself, if grandma never had an excuse to slow down then I shouldn't either!
Jean suggested we go to the senior center for lunch. And so we did. My dad, my two great aunt's (Lois had to ride into Helena), and I all headed to the Deerlodge senior center. Needless to say, I was the youngest attendee.
After lunch we made our way north to Helmville to visit the grave of my grandmother. Pulling into the smalltown (population maybe 75) and seeing the ranch and house she spent her younger years was amazing. It's so peaceful out there. Quiet and beautiful as the hills over look a sleepy town. We walked through the cemetery, filled mostly of my relatives, trying to remember just where we laid her ashes. In the far right corner there was a basket of flowers. My aunt Lois, who lives on the old ranch, must have laid it laid there to show us where she was... as there is yet to be a head stone. I walked up to it silently. Realizing this was my first time of visiting a grave holding the remains of someone whom I truly loved. "Is she there?" my dad called out. Such a strange question to be asked as I stood over a grave holding the remains of my grandmother, yet, I felt, at the same time, it was so void of her soul. "Ya, this is it," I replied. He walked up to it and rested against his cain.
Making our way to Helmville was so important to him. And the whole time I wondered why. I felt as though if I was to make this trip with anyone, if anyone would come here to find any peace in anything... it should've been my mom. The drive from Deerlodge to Helmville I silently wished I was with her. That we were going on some maternal pilgrimage to find peace for her in her mother's death, and maybe I could find peace for me in the hurt and pain I harbored against mine. It felt wrong to be with my dad. It felt strange.
After a long quiet period of him staring off into the after life, he spoke. "I made your grandma a promise that I would always take care of your mom and you kids. I had to come out here today to tell her I was sorry, and that I tried my best." My eyes welled with anger. At that instant I wanted to run into the field behind the cemetery and cry. Cry for how much I missed my grandma and how I wished I could talk to her, cry for my dad being sick, cry for my mom leaving, cry for how abandoned I felt by all these scenerios... but I didn't. I stood there and said nothing.
The wind had picked up at that point and I leaned into it, listening for words of wisdom I longed for from this beautiful place. But the wind was silent. And as we stood in the cemetery holding years of lineage I may never understand, silent we both stayed as well.
That night we had dinner at my Uncle Joe and Aunt Margi's. My grandfather's brother and wife. Their other brother, Uncle Dick, was also in town from Flordia with his daughter, Chrissy. Joe and Margi's daughter, Jenny, also showed up with her two kids, Shannon and Peter. We spent the evening catching up, eating, and playing cards. Just what I had needed after such a heavy afternoon.
This morning we woke up and walked around the Farmer's Market before getting ready for a 50th wedding anniversary of Uncle Joe's and Dick's cousin, Peggy Lakes. We drove out to a beautiful cabin six miles up Pettycreek road for a Montana lunch style picnic.
The trip has been warm. I admit I have been elsewhere in my head, trying my best to remember this trip is not mine but that of my father's.
Tomorrow Uncle Joe and my cousin Jenny want to hike to the "M" on the side of the hill over looking the town.
Wish me luck and endurance.
Wish me patience.
Wish me peace.
I love Missoula. It's beautiful, quiet, and quaint. The town is full of people in their twenties. Some going to school, some experiencing the great country side and others who were born and raised.
The next morning we drove out to deerlodge to visit with my grandma Eileen's sister's. My grandma passed away almost two years ago and we buried her in hometown of Helmville, Montana. She has four sisters still alive, and even in their elderly age, they are so full of life. We met at my great aunt Marie's place and had coffee. My aunt Lois and Jean soon followed. We talked about the family, caught up about the weather, and discussed small town gossip. My aunt Jean stopped mid conversation, looked me up and down and declared, "you look just like your grandmother in her young age." People have always told me I look like a 50/50 split of both my parents, but that the boys (cody and jake) look more like my mom's side. But I was pleased to hear that I resembled my grandmother, as I have always envied her courageous spirit and great sense of humor. She was a go-getter and didn't take shit from anyone. She raised her children almost on her own, and still experienced life all to her liking. I always think to myself, if grandma never had an excuse to slow down then I shouldn't either!
Jean suggested we go to the senior center for lunch. And so we did. My dad, my two great aunt's (Lois had to ride into Helena), and I all headed to the Deerlodge senior center. Needless to say, I was the youngest attendee.
After lunch we made our way north to Helmville to visit the grave of my grandmother. Pulling into the smalltown (population maybe 75) and seeing the ranch and house she spent her younger years was amazing. It's so peaceful out there. Quiet and beautiful as the hills over look a sleepy town. We walked through the cemetery, filled mostly of my relatives, trying to remember just where we laid her ashes. In the far right corner there was a basket of flowers. My aunt Lois, who lives on the old ranch, must have laid it laid there to show us where she was... as there is yet to be a head stone. I walked up to it silently. Realizing this was my first time of visiting a grave holding the remains of someone whom I truly loved. "Is she there?" my dad called out. Such a strange question to be asked as I stood over a grave holding the remains of my grandmother, yet, I felt, at the same time, it was so void of her soul. "Ya, this is it," I replied. He walked up to it and rested against his cain.
Making our way to Helmville was so important to him. And the whole time I wondered why. I felt as though if I was to make this trip with anyone, if anyone would come here to find any peace in anything... it should've been my mom. The drive from Deerlodge to Helmville I silently wished I was with her. That we were going on some maternal pilgrimage to find peace for her in her mother's death, and maybe I could find peace for me in the hurt and pain I harbored against mine. It felt wrong to be with my dad. It felt strange.
After a long quiet period of him staring off into the after life, he spoke. "I made your grandma a promise that I would always take care of your mom and you kids. I had to come out here today to tell her I was sorry, and that I tried my best." My eyes welled with anger. At that instant I wanted to run into the field behind the cemetery and cry. Cry for how much I missed my grandma and how I wished I could talk to her, cry for my dad being sick, cry for my mom leaving, cry for how abandoned I felt by all these scenerios... but I didn't. I stood there and said nothing.
The wind had picked up at that point and I leaned into it, listening for words of wisdom I longed for from this beautiful place. But the wind was silent. And as we stood in the cemetery holding years of lineage I may never understand, silent we both stayed as well.
That night we had dinner at my Uncle Joe and Aunt Margi's. My grandfather's brother and wife. Their other brother, Uncle Dick, was also in town from Flordia with his daughter, Chrissy. Joe and Margi's daughter, Jenny, also showed up with her two kids, Shannon and Peter. We spent the evening catching up, eating, and playing cards. Just what I had needed after such a heavy afternoon.
This morning we woke up and walked around the Farmer's Market before getting ready for a 50th wedding anniversary of Uncle Joe's and Dick's cousin, Peggy Lakes. We drove out to a beautiful cabin six miles up Pettycreek road for a Montana lunch style picnic.
The trip has been warm. I admit I have been elsewhere in my head, trying my best to remember this trip is not mine but that of my father's.
Tomorrow Uncle Joe and my cousin Jenny want to hike to the "M" on the side of the hill over looking the town.
Wish me luck and endurance.
Wish me patience.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
"I'm glad it's your birthday. Happy birthday to you"
Yesterday was my dad's 54th birthday. And more than anything this one was MUCH anticipated after such a crazy year of ups and downs. He'll tell anyone, "I'll take all the birthdays's I can get at this point." Which can be a breath of fresh air compared to a lot of adults who more than dread each passing birthday.
The day started with Cody, Jake and I having breakfast with him down at his favorite diner, the rose. He has breakfast there almost every morning. And he HAS to be there at the same time because that is when "the group" is there. There's Francis, a man who lives down town and is very in shape for his age. He has no tv, radio, or car. He seems happy all the time. He's one of those people you don't even have to talk to know their outlook on life. He wears it in his smile, which is always plastered across his face. There's Rose and Hubert. An older couple. Hubert, I think, suffered a stroke a couple years back. And Rose has stuck by his side everystep of the way. I really like seeing them together. It reminds me of my grandparents. You can't deny that even after all these years and hardships, they still love eachother.
Every morning when my dad goes down there, they don't even give him a menu. He has all the specials of the day memorized. And that's what he gets. And black coffee.
After breakfast we ran some errands while I frantically tried to invite people to his birthday dinner at the ram. The plan was to meet my aunt up there, but I really wanted his birthday to have more recognition. I hated admitting it to myself, but what if this was his last birthday? I wanted people to see him. And see how much it means to him to have people around. Because even though my brothers and I try our best, everyone still needs friends. Everyone still gets lonely. When we arrived at the Ram I had to ask to book the banquet room because we had close to 25 people show! I was so suprised to see so many old/new friends!
My dad stood and thanked everyone for coming. We all went around and introduced ourselves and how we knew my dad. People shared stories, gave cards and ate lots. I think all in all it turned out to be a great present for him.
As I'm sure most of you know, tomorrow we will be heading to Montana. There are a few sights he wants to see, and won't rest til he does. I will be documenting our trip with photos and blog updates so please stay tuned, and stay in touch.
Thank you to all for making his birthday so special. He appreciated it MORE than you know. And so did I.
The day started with Cody, Jake and I having breakfast with him down at his favorite diner, the rose. He has breakfast there almost every morning. And he HAS to be there at the same time because that is when "the group" is there. There's Francis, a man who lives down town and is very in shape for his age. He has no tv, radio, or car. He seems happy all the time. He's one of those people you don't even have to talk to know their outlook on life. He wears it in his smile, which is always plastered across his face. There's Rose and Hubert. An older couple. Hubert, I think, suffered a stroke a couple years back. And Rose has stuck by his side everystep of the way. I really like seeing them together. It reminds me of my grandparents. You can't deny that even after all these years and hardships, they still love eachother.
Every morning when my dad goes down there, they don't even give him a menu. He has all the specials of the day memorized. And that's what he gets. And black coffee.
After breakfast we ran some errands while I frantically tried to invite people to his birthday dinner at the ram. The plan was to meet my aunt up there, but I really wanted his birthday to have more recognition. I hated admitting it to myself, but what if this was his last birthday? I wanted people to see him. And see how much it means to him to have people around. Because even though my brothers and I try our best, everyone still needs friends. Everyone still gets lonely. When we arrived at the Ram I had to ask to book the banquet room because we had close to 25 people show! I was so suprised to see so many old/new friends!
My dad stood and thanked everyone for coming. We all went around and introduced ourselves and how we knew my dad. People shared stories, gave cards and ate lots. I think all in all it turned out to be a great present for him.
As I'm sure most of you know, tomorrow we will be heading to Montana. There are a few sights he wants to see, and won't rest til he does. I will be documenting our trip with photos and blog updates so please stay tuned, and stay in touch.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
When it don't come easy
On any given day, if anyone was to ask me if dealing with cancer has brought us closer as a family, without thinking I'd say yes. But when I step back and look at the situation from a different vantage point, I'd have to say that I've found us all a little broken in our own dark corners. The emotional consistency of the family goes up and down as fast as the wildest rollercoaster, and the hardest part is realizing that though we yearn for it, at times we absolutely refuse anyone to catch us on the way back down. Including, at times, one another.
I think the side of the disease least talked about, is the way a person changes. I may speak only for myself, but before my father was diagnosed.. I can't say I really knew him. He worked long hours and spent weekends hunting and fishing. Infact half the time in my childhood i tried to avoid him at all costs because he was the "no" parent, and any direct confrontation with him meant I was in trouble. I met my dad when he was diagnosed. Like really met him.
I remember it being important to him to talk to each of us individually about the doctors putting, as he put it, an "expiration" date on him. I asked him one time if he was scared. And for the first time in my life I saw my dad cry. My dad, strong, masculine, flanel wearing, hard calloused worn hands from working since the day he was 18. A strong tower weeping and melting. I think it was that day my emotional state of mind changed forever. I wasn't safe any more. I didn't have the excuse of being young and blissfully ignorant. I was dealing with death. And at the beginning of my journey, how strange to be at the end of his.
I was in New York the morning my mother left. The phone beside my hotel bed rang at 11 am. He was crying on the other end. Sobbing. Through a trembling voice he told me she had left. He sounded like an abandoned child. I was thousands of miles away. There was nothing I could do but cry with him. I found, inbetween my own sobs, I wasn't even crying for my own saddness but because I was scared for him. He said he was alone, and though I knew it was a hard promise to make, I promised him I would make sure he never felt alone. After that summer I moved home.
There are days I feel like no matter what I say, or what I do, it's never enough. Like no matter how much I give and give he'll always want her here. He'll always wish it was her making him dinner, driving him out to do things. And though I know better than to let it get to me, sometimes I wish he'd be comforted by my presence. I think in a sense we all miss her. It makes the house seem, even now, incomplete. It lack's that kind of motherly glue. That sureness, that other voice of reason.
Relationships become chores. Even between my brothers and I. When we fight, we fight about things that have nothing to do with one another. We fight because we have no one else to fight with. Because we can't be mad at my dad, because he can't handle it. Because he didn't really do anything wrong, because all the things he does do wrong he doesn't know he's doing them wrong. We let little things offend us. The fact Cody hasn't cleaned the bathroom in a week bugs me. The fact I don't cook red meat bugs my dad. Cody's "sqaureness" bugs Jake, and Jake's job bugs Cody. Things that mean nothing. But irritate us because the cancer can't. Because the cancer has no resolve. Because it's hard to wake up in the morning feeling like you have control. Because we know, whole heartedly, that we don't.
I know he, my father, hates it. One time Cody hit the end of a tempermental rope and it broke my dad's heart. "I hate that this is happening to my family." I hate it too. But I have to reassure him we'll have good days and bad ones, and that we know better than to let the bad ones define us. And I hope more than I know, but someone has to say it. Someone has to stop the crying, the yelling. Even break the silence. Someone has to soften the fall. And that is how we deal with cancer. By falling... landing on the softest earth we can find and walking it off.
I wrote this poem a couple moths ago and have since performed it at a few open mics. I hope you like it...
On my 16th birthday
I
turned 30
And
found out what it meant
to be grown.
I was weighted by
disease
and
became emotionally prone…
To loss
I suffocated
childhood
Drowned out
angst with
ekg machines and shots of chemo
I am old
in my unforgiving
basking
in toxic mishaps of
my past
and
my present
He is a rock
And I
liquefied in a
huge mass
of ocean
crash into
his strength
His one job
is to survive
My one wish
is
So do I.
And what happened
On the day
the music died?
The plane went down
And
cancer was born
From
The broken hearts
Of the
left behind.
Survivors shaken blind
The moon draggin
The daily grind
And I was touched by
A force
Unkind
I was
Quaked awake.
Faked
Out
By
Faith
God,
if you can hear me now
Can You make a noise?
Electrocute my stubborn poise
Make me silent
Make me coy
And make
All this
MOVE.
I’m budging on
My world view
Breathing on beat
But never on que
He was like the color blue
Deep
and always soulful.
And what is to become
Of this
My heart obstructed
Our lives
Dismissed.
My lips longing
For a healing kiss.
And in the midst
Of suffering…
My love has been revealed.
And in the midst of inner war
My love has been revealed
And in the midst of all of this
My love has been revealed
I think the side of the disease least talked about, is the way a person changes. I may speak only for myself, but before my father was diagnosed.. I can't say I really knew him. He worked long hours and spent weekends hunting and fishing. Infact half the time in my childhood i tried to avoid him at all costs because he was the "no" parent, and any direct confrontation with him meant I was in trouble. I met my dad when he was diagnosed. Like really met him.
I remember it being important to him to talk to each of us individually about the doctors putting, as he put it, an "expiration" date on him. I asked him one time if he was scared. And for the first time in my life I saw my dad cry. My dad, strong, masculine, flanel wearing, hard calloused worn hands from working since the day he was 18. A strong tower weeping and melting. I think it was that day my emotional state of mind changed forever. I wasn't safe any more. I didn't have the excuse of being young and blissfully ignorant. I was dealing with death. And at the beginning of my journey, how strange to be at the end of his.
I was in New York the morning my mother left. The phone beside my hotel bed rang at 11 am. He was crying on the other end. Sobbing. Through a trembling voice he told me she had left. He sounded like an abandoned child. I was thousands of miles away. There was nothing I could do but cry with him. I found, inbetween my own sobs, I wasn't even crying for my own saddness but because I was scared for him. He said he was alone, and though I knew it was a hard promise to make, I promised him I would make sure he never felt alone. After that summer I moved home.
There are days I feel like no matter what I say, or what I do, it's never enough. Like no matter how much I give and give he'll always want her here. He'll always wish it was her making him dinner, driving him out to do things. And though I know better than to let it get to me, sometimes I wish he'd be comforted by my presence. I think in a sense we all miss her. It makes the house seem, even now, incomplete. It lack's that kind of motherly glue. That sureness, that other voice of reason.
Relationships become chores. Even between my brothers and I. When we fight, we fight about things that have nothing to do with one another. We fight because we have no one else to fight with. Because we can't be mad at my dad, because he can't handle it. Because he didn't really do anything wrong, because all the things he does do wrong he doesn't know he's doing them wrong. We let little things offend us. The fact Cody hasn't cleaned the bathroom in a week bugs me. The fact I don't cook red meat bugs my dad. Cody's "sqaureness" bugs Jake, and Jake's job bugs Cody. Things that mean nothing. But irritate us because the cancer can't. Because the cancer has no resolve. Because it's hard to wake up in the morning feeling like you have control. Because we know, whole heartedly, that we don't.
I know he, my father, hates it. One time Cody hit the end of a tempermental rope and it broke my dad's heart. "I hate that this is happening to my family." I hate it too. But I have to reassure him we'll have good days and bad ones, and that we know better than to let the bad ones define us. And I hope more than I know, but someone has to say it. Someone has to stop the crying, the yelling. Even break the silence. Someone has to soften the fall. And that is how we deal with cancer. By falling... landing on the softest earth we can find and walking it off.
On my 16th birthday
I
turned 30
And
found out what it meant
to be grown.
I was weighted by
disease
and
became emotionally prone…
To loss
I suffocated
childhood
Drowned out
angst with
ekg machines and shots of chemo
I am old
in my unforgiving
basking
in toxic mishaps of
my past
and
my present
He is a rock
And I
liquefied in a
huge mass
of ocean
crash into
his strength
His one job
is to survive
My one wish
is
So do I.
And what happened
On the day
the music died?
The plane went down
And
cancer was born
From
The broken hearts
Of the
left behind.
Survivors shaken blind
The moon draggin
The daily grind
And I was touched by
A force
Unkind
I was
Quaked awake.
Faked
Out
By
Faith
God,
if you can hear me now
Can You make a noise?
Electrocute my stubborn poise
Make me silent
Make me coy
And make
All this
MOVE.
I’m budging on
My world view
Breathing on beat
But never on que
He was like the color blue
Deep
and always soulful.
And what is to become
Of this
My heart obstructed
Our lives
Dismissed.
My lips longing
For a healing kiss.
And in the midst
Of suffering…
My love has been revealed.
And in the midst of inner war
My love has been revealed
And in the midst of all of this
My love has been revealed
Monday, July 5, 2010
Brilliant Corners.
I never thought I'd be living this summer. At home cooking, cleaning, and tending to my father. I, like many other 21 year olds, cherish the summer as play time. Hiking, traveling, camp fires, parties, concerts, happy hours and dating. But I had a different calling this summer.
My father, Lee Fouts, has been struggling with brain cancer for the last six years. When he was first diagnosed the doctors told us he had six months to live. Six months later he had entered his first remission. I was 16 at the age of his first diagnosis.
He had been in and out of the hospital with reoccurring, blinding headaches. On my sixteenth birthday in October of 2004 he was rushed into the hospital for having a, so the doctors said then, a stroke. After more months of complications we found out soon after Christmas and after him suffering a grand maul seizure, that he had been suffering from a fast growing brain tumor. The tumor type is one called a "Glioblastoma".
To put this into perspective I'll start with saying that brain cancer is statistically the rarest form of cancer diagnosed and a gliobastoma is THE rarest form of brain cancer. There are less than 200,000 cases of gliobastomas diagnosed in the U.S. I think I had read somewhere that 25 million people were diagnosed with cancer in the United States in 2006.
After his first remission he continued to struggle with tumor growth trying new radiations and chemotherapies. In the spring of 2008 he went in for another surgery and another in the winter of 2009.
This blog is set up to document the summer, and hopefully coming years, of my family. Specifically my father's battle with cancer. I plan to talk about his treatments, his experience, our family, our adventures, our struggles, and our triumphs. People are constantly telling me to share my story. So here we are. Let the story begin. I will be divulging through series of posts our story of the past and also journal entries of the present. And tons of prayers for the future.
My father, Lee Fouts, has been struggling with brain cancer for the last six years. When he was first diagnosed the doctors told us he had six months to live. Six months later he had entered his first remission. I was 16 at the age of his first diagnosis.
He had been in and out of the hospital with reoccurring, blinding headaches. On my sixteenth birthday in October of 2004 he was rushed into the hospital for having a, so the doctors said then, a stroke. After more months of complications we found out soon after Christmas and after him suffering a grand maul seizure, that he had been suffering from a fast growing brain tumor. The tumor type is one called a "Glioblastoma".
To put this into perspective I'll start with saying that brain cancer is statistically the rarest form of cancer diagnosed and a gliobastoma is THE rarest form of brain cancer. There are less than 200,000 cases of gliobastomas diagnosed in the U.S. I think I had read somewhere that 25 million people were diagnosed with cancer in the United States in 2006.
After his first remission he continued to struggle with tumor growth trying new radiations and chemotherapies. In the spring of 2008 he went in for another surgery and another in the winter of 2009.
This blog is set up to document the summer, and hopefully coming years, of my family. Specifically my father's battle with cancer. I plan to talk about his treatments, his experience, our family, our adventures, our struggles, and our triumphs. People are constantly telling me to share my story. So here we are. Let the story begin. I will be divulging through series of posts our story of the past and also journal entries of the present. And tons of prayers for the future.
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