It’s been a harsh trip along the road of reality. It’s not easy… knowing that I will be losing my father. Even at the ripe old age of 46, I find myself feeling as vulnerable as the little 5-year old girl who once dreaded a spanking.
I feel so lost… so helpless. It’s VERY traumatic.
It’s equally strange to sit and watch my father dwindle down to a shadow of his previous existence. Up until today, I don’t believe I actually ever witnessed him being “weak” as the word implies. It’s apparent to me, how this cancer has taken its toll, wrecking the beautiful spirit of a man, along with his body.
He was always so vibrant, so happy… so full of life.
Worse yet, I know the days are dwindling, where I am able to sit by his side, hold his hand, and tell him how much I love him.
Yes…
- A writer, who finds herself at a loss for words, as she fights back the tears and wishes life wouldn’t be so unfair.
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A daughter who aches to find the right speech so what she says will penetrate his disease and hit a nerve, forcing a smile of recognition.
I understand death is a part of life but, I don’t have to like it. I don’t need to accept it, and it’s only natural that I would exercise my opinion that it totally blows!
I wonder why something that starts out so beautifully as life does, would end so drastically, so traumatic… as it does in death.
What do you think?