The order of chaos.

I’m having difficulty understanding how I feel.  Things are a little clearer at this point pertaining to my dad’s future.  Because there now seems to be a plan in place, that alone grants me some relief — if for nothing else because there is a plan to adhere to.  Make sense?  Sometimes, despite how terrible an event is, if there is a plan or procedure to follow, we do not feel so lost and helpless like blind men stumbling in the dark in search of a candle to light the way out.

The general opinion is six to two months life expectancy but leans in the direction of two.  If there were a chance of quality of life while working toward complete recovery, my dad would fight.  But this is sarcoma, it is in his blood and randomly attaches itself to various parts of the body.  Just yesterday, the CAT scan confirmed numerous tumors in his pelvis and thighs.  It isn’t fair!  Why cancer?  What causes it to be so aggressive??  Why do so many people have their lives affected by it?  Environmental?  Food-related?  Genetic?  All of the above?

Am I feeling a little less train wreck-like due to the routine of spending my days in the hospital?  As if this has become the new normal and I have merely adapted?  Maybe that is a part of it, though having grown up with a mom who worked in hospice and as a bereavement facilitator, I understand grief comes in waves and mine appear to be massive when they surge and replaced with peace as they wane.  I feel like I am stuck riding a liquid roller coaster.

I feel more compassion for my father than I can adequately describe.  I want to care for him.  I want to show him I love him.  I have groomed him, washed his feet, given him Reiki treatments, held his hand and had numerous one-on-one talks with him and it has made me feel so connected to him that I could cry over that feeling itself.  I look into his eyes and watch closely when we talk, when we are together and I feel in my gut that he is passing his torch to me.  As he retires his place as head of this family, I have come to a point of maturity and responsibility that I know I can not only look after the overall well-being of my future wife and our daughter, but of my immediate family as well and I believe my dad knows it.

My lil’ mija is due in early to mid-June and though I am heartbroken over my dad’s condition, I feel even more blessed over the arrival of my little girl.  The love that I have in my heart for this lil’ one has been amplified exponentially because of all of this.  Never before have I so seriously contemplated mortality or the frailty of life.  Never has it hit this close to home.  This is a lot to carry but I don’t feel overburdened, I feel determined to see it through, be strong, and do this without complaining — the same way my dad lived his life.  When there is enough love in your heart, you do it naturally and it showed with my father.

"I love you, pop."

“I love you, pop.”

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One thought on “The order of chaos.

  1. Auntie G says:

    Alec, your feelings of roller coaster, alternating panic and peace are very normal. You are indeed adapting to the hospital routine, as we all must do in this situation.
    Life and its magical moments become so incredibly fraught with intensity during end of life. As difficult and horrifying as this all is, you will not be the same person ever again; you will be deepened, more mature and more aware.
    You are doing such a tremendous job for your mom and dad and family. Individually and as a group, you are all at the pinnacle of yourselves.
    My love and respect to you and yours, Auntie G

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