Just One More Silver Lining

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My dad passed away on April 21st, five days before his 73rd birthday. I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty saying that I’m glad. That’s the silver lining. I told him as much and I’ll tell you. Glioblastoma, and all cancers, but this incurable one in particular, is a tremendous fucking asshole and it took my dad from me. Stole him away when no one was looking and left us with a shell that couldn’t be trusted to support him, to say the words he wanted to say, to think the thoughts, to cherish his family the way he would have liked. It erased parts of him altogether. I’m glad he doesn’t have to wait to die anymore.

For 22 months I’ve struggled to grieve and keep my mom upright. I’ve had to repeat to her, over and over, that the cancer isn’t in remission, it can’t be, they didn’t “get it all”, they can’t. It’s not possible to survive. I’ve had full days where it was one what the actual fuck after another. I’ve cried so much my pillow was still damp the next morning. I’ve begged my sisters to step in and take my mom off of my hands for a few days. I’ve missed countless days of work,  I’ve walked with my head down, I’ve crumpled inside.

As much as I feel ready (who is ever ready) to move on, I also feel like I want remember all of it. I do a lot of talking to myself, but it isn’t enough. I know it will fade (so much does with me) and so I plan to write it down. It isn’t all pretty. The words won’t be smooth. And, if goes like I expect it to, there’s more there than just my dad. This doesn’t feel like the right place for it really; this blank page that would prefer to host my child’s honest smile, the shenanigans of an almost seven-year-old, and the ongoing saga of her bladder because no it is not over.

So here are two things for you
1) My dad’s obituary and my addendum. Because he’s super cool and, man, I miss him.
2) The link to the place any other posts about this sort of thing will go. It’s my first home and one I only left when what I had to say became more about RR than about me. I’m delighted I kept it and it will be nice to go home.

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8 Responses

  1. You have been on my mind. Really. Glad to see you here and anywhere else.

  2. ❤ I'm sorry for all the pain and suffering, and I completely understand how you can feel relieved for your dad's passing now. I know you'll never stop missing him. Much love to you and your family.

  3. Molly said exactly what I was going to say. Sending love, hope, and peace. ❤

  4. I’m so sorry, Meredith.

  5. ❤ I've been thinking about you and the long silence. I'm glad the pain is over and your dad has moved on to peace. I hope you, too, can move on to peace in time. I've watched too many loved ones wither away with cancer and I understand the relief that comes when it's finally, finally over. None of them as close as a parent, so I can't understand that, but I can say: fuck cancer.
    Sending love and hope for peace.

  6. A friend of mine once remarked that when you lose your father, you lose your safety net.
    Much love to you and your sweet little family. xo

  7. I am so sorry for the loss of your father, it will leave a hole in your heart in his shape. But in a way, I can see it is good he is over the suffering, the pain of not being the person he used to be, the husband, the father, the brother, the grandfather, the friend. Now he can be all those things and more. I truly believe something else is going on in our bodies than just a bunch of chemical reactions. That something inhabits the framework and when that gives out, it goes on. And can go on being all those things in more amazing ways. Wishing your hearts peace and love.

  8. I am so very sorry for your loss. While also recognizing the relief you must be feeling right now. My mother died after slowly withering away to terminal illness over a 4 year span. It is a shock, no matter how much you have prepared for it. I am holding you and your mother in my thoughts.
    xo

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