CA 19-9

It's numb now, so I can write. My heart is numb. I was so sure that everything was going to be fine. I was so sure that I heard God say that. Now I wonder if I ever really heard Him at all. I wonder what I've done. I suppose I'm wondering if anything is what I thought it was. I feel like I'm swimming in the ocean and I just keep fighting the waves. I can't fight my Daddy's cancer anymore than I could fight the ocean.

My mom called me right after they left the doctor's office. That must have been horrible for her. I wish it was one of those memories that was a half-forgotten blur, but there's nothing blurry about it. I realized immediately that my best friend, sitting next to me, had already met CA 19-9. Before her Daddy died. Today, when I thought about it, I felt like God had an alterior motive. Someday I know I'll have to ask for forgiveness for the things I'm thinking. But she was such a good thing- she IS a good thing-and I know God sent her because He knew He was going to take my Daddy away. So now all I can think is that everything good and precious in my life is here because of some inevitable, unsurvivable pain I am going to face.

My Daddy is so healthy. He almost died when he was 40-years-old, but he suvived bypass after bypass, stint after stint. He worked so hard to stay here for us. We all knew that someday, though, his heart would kill him. This wasn't part of the plan. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Even as I write that I know it's so cliche. Who ever dies the way they're "supposed" to?

Daddy's always been so fun. That's what the girls love most about him. He's young, and he's young at heart. People look at pictures of him and they can't believe he's old enough to be my Daddy. How can God ask me to watch that disappear?? I know I'm riddled with sin, but how can God ask this of me? Why does He ask this of me? How do I tell my sweet babies that the world, their safe, happy world; can be so evil? How do I continue to be a mother when all I want to be is a daughter?

I want to pray. I want to laugh. I want to breathe. Right now all I can do is hate. I know it's a selfish, terrible thing. I know it could be worse. I thank God for my babies and all I can do is beg him with what's left of my soul to keep the rest of my family safe. But I think I'm filled with hate. I hate cancer. I hate chemotherapy. I hate the doctor. I hate the word's "How are you," and "are you okay?" I hate other's happiness. You should hate me for saying that. It's disgusting, but I can't stop it. I hate the red lines on the hospital floor leading the way to what felt like a death chamber. I hate the orange plastic chairs in the hospital room that beg you not to sit in them. I hate how my burning eyes keep reminding me that there are more tears coming. I hate the navy blue scrubs the nurses were wearing when they handed me one-ply kleenex and asked me if "needed anything." I hate the doctor who tapped my hand like I had a disease and said, "It's going to be okay." I hate the voice in that elevator that said, "Going up!" like it was happy that the bottom just fell out of my world. I hate people sitting there staring at me and not knowing what to say. I hate watching people who couldn't hold a candle to my Daddy walking out of the hospital without a port in their chest. I hate thinking about the future. I hate thinking about the present.  I hate feeling like I can't stop crying. I hate feeling like I have to stop crying so that the people around me won't feel awkward. I hate thinking about his pain.

I would ask God again to save him. To do SOMETHING. But I can't. I hear the words in my ears, but they just don't go anywhere. I've got nothing left.

Dear Daddy,
Remember when I was in middle school and I cut my hair short and you said you wouldn't be able to grab my ponytail anymore? That made me so sad. I never wanted to cut my hair again. And do you remember that time I slapped that boy in high school and you were actually kind of proud of me? I wish I could slap your pancreas. I love you.