My dad...
Posted: Fri Aug 04, 2006 3:27 am
is in bad shape. I just learned today he's been given about a six month window left on his life. A year ago he was diagnosed with cancer of the kidney. He took the surgical route and at the time it was the belief that the doctors removed most of the tumor along with one of his kidneys. Late last week he felt pain in the place of is missing kidney and underwent several tests and met with the doctor today.
It has spread to glands and bones and his spine and his liver and his remaining kidney.
I have no idea why I'm sharing this. It's just a bit of a release to write sometimes.
I think now about the pistol in the box on the coffee table. It was his service revolver. The box was marked with his initials - GWE. I was fascinated with that box as a child. I knew what was inside but never dared touch it.
I think about the hairbrush his kept behind his seat in his small pick-up. He has a thick head of hair. I remember having a small brush just like it. I lost the brush along with any need for it a long time ago. He still uses the same brush. It must be over 30 years old.
I remember being mortified when he took us to Six Flags during on of our weekend visitations. He wore hush puppies with black socks and shorts. How was a fourteen year old boy supposed to score a babe with Dork Dad as his wing man?
You know the catfishing picture I posted some time ago? He took that. It was the last time we hung out. My son, my dad and I had an amazing time tossing hooks baited with wonder bread and pulling out those massive fish. We worked our asses off cleaning them later that night. It took much longer than I expected. We were hungry and tired and sweaty. But we continued on silently. He gutted them. I removed the fins and skin. Gibbon bagged. We had never done that before but we made quiet the process out of it. You would have thought we were... well... it was evident we were amatuers. But it was a nice moment any way. We carried the smell of catfish on our skin through the next day.
I hate the news that's been given. But thankful I have time. I have a chance to go visit him over the next several months and prepare myself to say goodbye. I know many friends haven't been given that chance.
And I'll pick up a bucket of fried chicken and a bear bottle of honey when I go down there. He loves that. Honey on fried chicken. He turned me onto it as a kid. You gotta try it sometime. It's delicious.
Hopefully he won't be too sick in the coming days to enjoy it. I hope for one clear mild day so we can go outside and eat it on the banks of the pond. And maybe we'll talk. or not. Maybe we'll see if there's one more catfish in that pond.
It has spread to glands and bones and his spine and his liver and his remaining kidney.
I have no idea why I'm sharing this. It's just a bit of a release to write sometimes.
I think now about the pistol in the box on the coffee table. It was his service revolver. The box was marked with his initials - GWE. I was fascinated with that box as a child. I knew what was inside but never dared touch it.
I think about the hairbrush his kept behind his seat in his small pick-up. He has a thick head of hair. I remember having a small brush just like it. I lost the brush along with any need for it a long time ago. He still uses the same brush. It must be over 30 years old.
I remember being mortified when he took us to Six Flags during on of our weekend visitations. He wore hush puppies with black socks and shorts. How was a fourteen year old boy supposed to score a babe with Dork Dad as his wing man?
You know the catfishing picture I posted some time ago? He took that. It was the last time we hung out. My son, my dad and I had an amazing time tossing hooks baited with wonder bread and pulling out those massive fish. We worked our asses off cleaning them later that night. It took much longer than I expected. We were hungry and tired and sweaty. But we continued on silently. He gutted them. I removed the fins and skin. Gibbon bagged. We had never done that before but we made quiet the process out of it. You would have thought we were... well... it was evident we were amatuers. But it was a nice moment any way. We carried the smell of catfish on our skin through the next day.
I hate the news that's been given. But thankful I have time. I have a chance to go visit him over the next several months and prepare myself to say goodbye. I know many friends haven't been given that chance.
And I'll pick up a bucket of fried chicken and a bear bottle of honey when I go down there. He loves that. Honey on fried chicken. He turned me onto it as a kid. You gotta try it sometime. It's delicious.
Hopefully he won't be too sick in the coming days to enjoy it. I hope for one clear mild day so we can go outside and eat it on the banks of the pond. And maybe we'll talk. or not. Maybe we'll see if there's one more catfish in that pond.