Stage IV

Today's clouds: Cirrostratus nebulosus or cirrostratus fibratus invading the whole sky

My father has stage IV colon cancer. He was diagnosed in April - we (the children) learned the news on April 1. The news of this cancer was akin to a punch in the stomach. I sobbed and wretched and tried to compose myself enough to be able to go to my fathers side and be a calm supportive daughter and not a sniveling wreck of a person mourning his pending death.

That very day I arrived at the house and many of my siblings were there as well. We sat at the table looking like deer in the headlights unable to talk and make words out of feelings that made us want to puke. I kept checking my mothers' face - she had a fixed surprised look that frightened me. She said very little but the presence of shock was written in her body language. I worry for her.

My father sat in his room playing solitaire on the computer as though all was well and perfectly normal. When he noticed I was there he came out and greeted me. I immediately cried and wanted to kick myself in the shin for doing so, so much for being strong. Suddenly and amazingly my father started to comfort me. Telling me, "don't worry, I'm at peace with this news. We're all going to die sooner or later. I just happen to know it will be my turn, and more than likely this disease may take my life. I'm eighty-two years old, I can't live forever, Lor." His words stopped my crying temporarily. How could I cry when he is being to brave?

My life with dad growing up wasn't easy. It wasn't easy for any of us eight children, but we're a strong family that loves each other under all the dysfunction that marked our lives together. Dad is an intense, passionate man with his own familiar ghost he has had to live with, but he has asked forgiveness and has shown by example how he loves everyone of us unconditionally.