Both the true meaning and the band.
My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer years ago. As the concerned son, i constantly asked for updates. He would mostly tell me he was o.k. and every now and then he would say he hurt a little more, but not to worry. ("Not to worry." "Not to Worry." I only type it more so it may stick in my head).
About 4 weeks ago I had called my father to see how he was doing. This time he said he was in pain. *slowly typing**trying not to cry**first time really telling story* He went on to say that his cancer had spread. He was to go in for check ups in a couple of days, but he remained optimistic.
I called my father the day after his next appointment. *waited a day due to time zone change* He said, "they got it." He said he felt great....and of course.....not to worry. I took him at his word.
One week ago yesterday. I get that call. Not the one of fatality. No that one would have almost been better. I get the call that says that my father is now terminal. The cancer now spread to his bones and brain.
I hang up on the caller, drop the phone and cry. Only momentarily, I have not brought myself to that level yet. I am still trying to remain strong.
I then plan to make an emergency trip from Italy to visit with my father at perhaps his weakest state. British Air is on strike! All airlines booked for 3 days! I have nothing to do for three days but question every bad thing, or anything that I could make sound bad, that has ever happened between my father and I. Why did I move to Italy? Why didn't I take over the family business? Why did I not go to the last family reunion? WHY? WHY? WHY?
During these three days all I could think of in the back of my head was Kirt Kobane's words, "I want to eat your cancer with a spoon." What did he mean by that? Who cares? My father is dying. I mean, I knew it before. I knew and know that there is no cure. But fuck! When you hear from a doctor that your last parent *yes! last**lost mother to cancer as well* has about one year to live, what do you do?
I am with him now. Only mementarily. I must go back to work soon. My recent days have been filled with transiting back and forth to the hosiptal from local family members' houses. Sound shitty? In between visiting my father, I am trying to figure out which nursing home to put him in, what to do with his belongings *can't think about what he wants me keep at this point* , etc. etc.
The worst part of all. He thinks he can go back to work at the end of the week. How do you look you father in the eye and shatter his dreams of working again? How do you tell his father that he will probably never see his home again? All the things your father never did to you while growing up (shut down your dreams). And now you are faced with the reality.
Anyone? Anyone?
well i am done with my tangent for now. time to spend more time with my father. god, it felt good to vent. thank you all (anyone who will listen).
I am sure there is more to follow.
My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer years ago. As the concerned son, i constantly asked for updates. He would mostly tell me he was o.k. and every now and then he would say he hurt a little more, but not to worry. ("Not to worry." "Not to Worry." I only type it more so it may stick in my head).
About 4 weeks ago I had called my father to see how he was doing. This time he said he was in pain. *slowly typing**trying not to cry**first time really telling story* He went on to say that his cancer had spread. He was to go in for check ups in a couple of days, but he remained optimistic.
I called my father the day after his next appointment. *waited a day due to time zone change* He said, "they got it." He said he felt great....and of course.....not to worry. I took him at his word.
One week ago yesterday. I get that call. Not the one of fatality. No that one would have almost been better. I get the call that says that my father is now terminal. The cancer now spread to his bones and brain.
I hang up on the caller, drop the phone and cry. Only momentarily, I have not brought myself to that level yet. I am still trying to remain strong.
I then plan to make an emergency trip from Italy to visit with my father at perhaps his weakest state. British Air is on strike! All airlines booked for 3 days! I have nothing to do for three days but question every bad thing, or anything that I could make sound bad, that has ever happened between my father and I. Why did I move to Italy? Why didn't I take over the family business? Why did I not go to the last family reunion? WHY? WHY? WHY?
During these three days all I could think of in the back of my head was Kirt Kobane's words, "I want to eat your cancer with a spoon." What did he mean by that? Who cares? My father is dying. I mean, I knew it before. I knew and know that there is no cure. But fuck! When you hear from a doctor that your last parent *yes! last**lost mother to cancer as well* has about one year to live, what do you do?
I am with him now. Only mementarily. I must go back to work soon. My recent days have been filled with transiting back and forth to the hosiptal from local family members' houses. Sound shitty? In between visiting my father, I am trying to figure out which nursing home to put him in, what to do with his belongings *can't think about what he wants me keep at this point* , etc. etc.
The worst part of all. He thinks he can go back to work at the end of the week. How do you look you father in the eye and shatter his dreams of working again? How do you tell his father that he will probably never see his home again? All the things your father never did to you while growing up (shut down your dreams). And now you are faced with the reality.
Anyone? Anyone?
well i am done with my tangent for now. time to spend more time with my father. god, it felt good to vent. thank you all (anyone who will listen).
I am sure there is more to follow.
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Italy
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