My dad has been battling lung cancer since October 1, 2003.
That's the day we all found out. I had gotten a call on September 30th while in Atlanta, when my mom told me that my dad had been admitted to the hospital. I remember the date, cause when I woke up that morning, I'd been thinking about James Dean's death.
Not my father's. But we all adjusted, and freaked out and cried. I called Barrie, Carl, and Nik from the dirty hospital parking lot in Atlanta to report the news. The comforting part isn't what they said. What could they say?
No, the comforting part is that my friends let me say whatever I needed to, and didn't try to tell me it was God's way or any shit like that. Carl mixed me drinks before I left, Barrie listened quietly, and Nik told me a story about a mongrel dog that needed to be shot.
It helped me then. And it helps me now. I just found out that my dad's cancer that had previously left is back. This time in his throat. The good news, if you can beleive it, is that they can operate this time and remove the damn tumor.
That's all I know right now. So, please keep my dad in your thoughts or prayers if you're so inclined.
He needs us. And I need him.