Most of what I remember about my father is his illness and his death. Certainly there were many many happy times but his illness lasted for two very long very hard years and the magnitude of the experience seems to overshadow a lot of the good. He was diagnosed from the start as being terminal. He absolutely refused to accept this. I have admired his courage in his battle but I have also been angry that he could not face the inevitable and allow his children to prepare for what came. I grew up 30 years in the space of 2. I held him as he cried and I gave him drugs for pain. The dosage just never seemed enough and I found myself giving more and more to just try to make him comfortable. Imagine this position for a 12 and 13 year old child. Wanting to stop a fathers pain and not wanting to kill him at the same time. Someone had to do it...my mother was far too busy planning life after his death. My other siblings just didn't know how to handle it and stayed away.
So here I am 10 years later. In many ways I have remained the vigilant 13 year old daughter only this time I try to stop my own pain that is a result of his loss. In other ways I am a 24 year old woman who has experienced far too much for her age. I can not and will never think of my father as being in a better place. He belongs with me and the people that continue to love him. And so I grieve....I simply grieve.
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anniversary date 06-14-88
date of post 01-16-99