There are some things that are so uncomfortable that all you can do is surrender to a nauseous feeling in your gut and a throat that’s choking itself. You can’t possibly begin to think of anything else; the anxiety is rising and I’m pretty sure your brain is beginning to hiss and sputter like a disregarded teakettle. That is completely how I feel when I think about how miserable it must have been for my dad to lie in the hospital while we all wept for him. I have so much guilt over making him feel awkward. In hindsight, it was so greedy. I can see that now. I can’t imagine knowing I’m to die, and having people look at me as if I just need to hold on… because they’re not ready. I don’t know.
I try not to think about my dad’s final week because the remorse is very harsh to me. What could I have done or said differently that would have maybe eased my dad? I remember having a few moments of pure emotion, bawling at his bedside; grabbing hold of him and squeezing tight. They were all impulses, but what I really wanted to do was crawl up into the bed and just lie there and love on my dad, but I also felt like I needed to hold back. I feel regret for being too emotional in front of him, and there are things I wish I had done more of. I wish I had been able to give him proper hugs, something, anything, but I wish to not have cried so hard.
I’m split down the middle, all the way through my mind. One half is full of what is expected of me and the other is raw and not giving a shit. What both sides can’t understand is how someone that I looked up to and loved with my whole intact heart, could die of cancer.