Facing the Mess

I never meant to stop chronicling things the way I had been. The task just sort of fell by the wayside as something that did not matter in the midst of life. Because even though living with a toddling baby, taking precarious steps through a toy-riddled townhouse alongside a curious pup, is certainly messy, and sometimes even shamefully so... life in its bigger picture can trump it anytime.

I've always cited my relationship with my dad as a huge reason why I want little K to have a great relationship with her dad. I've always been an emphatic "daddy's girl," from when I was a tiny toddler, through my adolescence and to adulthood. J is well aware of how my dad's gentle spirit and calm wisdom have really shaped the person I am, from my career as an artist and childlike love for Christmas and Disneyland, to similarities in our personalities. My dad's example also taught me what to look for in a spouse. My dad and J both have a quality of humility that I admire, which I think is far more valuable than many other character traits.

Tonight, my beloved daddy is lying mostly paralyzed in a hospital bed moved inside the home where I grew up, living out the last days of hospice care for terminal liver cancer that metastasized to his bones. Three weeks ago he was still walking with a cane, though barely -- then able to sit in a wheelchair and still talk fairly tolerably. Last week, bedridden, he was able to flutter his eyelids open and whisper hoarsely that he loved me. Tonight the morphine and other drugs have overtaken him, though he squeezed my hand faintly with his now bone-thin one, as I held it between my own two healthy ones. We all know the destination for this journey of decline, and that it won't be long before it's over.

Part of me cannot believe that this is my current reality. Lately, I fall asleep after hours of tossing and turning, and then I dream of times before, living in that house, him coming out of that very room, calling my name to come take a look at something or other that he saw on the internet for his stained glass hobby, and would I please help him order it? Or laughing together as I tease him for getting spaghetti sauce, as always, on his shirt as we all eat together at the kitchen table. Or the various times after marriage, meeting up with my parents on Friday nights with J, discussing our respective weekend plans so cheerily. Or even the afternoon K was born, his beaming face so proud as he cradled his new baby granddaughter in his arms. In reality, I wake up startled, gasping that that isn't my life anymore, that life will never be like that again, as tears flow from my eyes.

The thing about terminal illness is that grief starts from the point one knows the diagnosis, and deepens from that point. There are pros and cons, and I mostly choose to focus on the pros as well as I can. My dad being able to design, make and give away custom stained glass pieces to most of his close friends, him being able to record two audiobooks for K, personally give away gifts to many and complete a lengthy biography questionnaire detailing a lot of his childhood memories, reflections and fatherly advice... these are all things to treasure and be grateful he had an opportunity to do. There is also the blessing of seeing how many lives he has touched, and him being able to experience their gratefulness himself. Their house is constantly filled with generous souls who fill their refrigerator, pray with us and spend time doing chores for my mom as she cares for my dad.

The con always casting shadows on the pros is watching almost helplessly as he declines, and knowing the bitter end and the reason why he was prompted to do so much. When the diagnosis came out in November that there was officially no hope for a transplant and that the cancer was spreading, one could almost forget at times because he seemed quite well and he made a point to make us all enjoy spending time with him, as if all was normal. But time, in this case, is not friendly.

Through this season, I am learning the depth of my daddy's character even more so than I knew before. Through the illness, he has not uttered complaint, though his pain is tenfold any that we have. It is he who reminds the rest of us time and time again to be happy, keep our faith strong, be content and focus on what we have that is good. Even in this hardest of times, my daddy is to me who he has always been: an example of wisdom, a pillar of strength, a hero. And he will always be...