I'm numb today. Numb to bad news, impending sadness. My dad called me last night as I was laying in bed reading, to check in. To tell me how his latest doctor's appointment had gone.
It seems the doctors now suspect that he may have cancer in his spine. His spine. We don't know what they're going to say, what the doctors if anything can come up with.
All I know is that cancer is a roller coaster of the worst kind. It's brought me to my knees in both devastation and prayer. For every good report there seem to be 4 bad ones waiting around the corner.
And what could I do when he told me such news in the way that only my dad could. Blunt and to the point. He's always been a man that doesn't mince words. I admire and find that fearful at the same time.
He told me that he was glad it was him that was going through this and not me. He said, I'd had to fight too hard to live when I was born so prematurely.
I should've died then. And he can't die now. I feel like cancer is a floating balloon above my head, but I can't let go of the string.
When I was little, I used to call him Daddy Quinlan and he let me stand on his feet while we danced. Now I call him dad, but I don't want the song to be over yet.
We've only just begun.