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Tuesday, November 9, 2010

In The Words of Emotion

Words seem to fail me when I try to express what I want to say, even though my emotions are running very high, which generally allows the words to flow freely from the tips of my fingers onto the paper or keyboard in which these words need to be brought.

The feelings are very scattered and unorganized.  They whisper reminders into my thoughts which give me very high levels of emotion at very random times.  A lot of tears have been shed, a lot of laughs have been had and a lot of smiles have brightened the feelings of others around me.

In the time of very scattered emotions, one finds that there are a lot more things they think about than they ever have before.  For instance, I'm taking time to see the smaller aspects of my days.  Time in my life is measured by days now, not weeks or months.  I think from day to day.  Everyday I have small moments of extreme happiness, like having a coffee with my dad, or laughing over something ridiculous with my mother.  Even in his ailing health, my father still manages to soothe me and to make me laugh.  We've had such incredible talks and meaningful moments that only a father and daughter in our situation can share.

I don't think about the "when" and the "why" anymore.  Yes, I am very angry at whoever this higher power is for striking my father with such a devastating and undignified illness, yet I can't help but love the man he's become in this time of tragedy.  My thought process isn't in the direction of when he goes or why he's going, instead, I remember that he's here today, he'll be here tomorrow, and I'll share the moments in between with him.

I've discovered just how lucky I am to have the people I have in my life.  Times like these bring people closer together and make people unite in ways they never thought possible.  My friends stand by my side in everything, they live through this with me, as opposed to hide from it, like I've so often wanted to do.  This isn't just my father, now, this is every one of their fathers.  This isn't my tragic story now, this is every one of their stories and every one of them cry with me when I am having a bad moment.  They keep me sane, they make me smile, and they rush to the rescue when I can not save myself.  These are the people I have been blessed with as my best friends.

My family lives it with me.  Nothing is more devastating then to see a mother with her sick son, to see her cry and to see her wish the illness was inside her to spare his pain and suffering, to see her pray silently to herself that the good lord lift this disease from him.  And to see the son, in return, only wish for the happiness of his mother, only pray that her tears will cease to fall and he will be healthy again, only to wish he can out-live her to save her from the heartache of burying a child.

I always knew my father was a strong man.  He is the strongest I know and will ever know.  My brother is following seamlessly in his footsteps to become a great, strong, proud man also.  However, my father's strength has shocked me these past few days.  Even when doctors say this is a hopeless effort, a daunting task to keep one alive when their body has had enough, my father insists on fighting.  He is fighting his own body to become strong, to prove to his children that he can prevail and defeat this illness that has him so near death.  His heart and his mind are what fuel the strength that his body won't allow.  He does it for me, for my brother, for his mother.  He does it to know he won't have to leave us.  He does it to know he won't have to miss the most important events and times of our lives.

My brother's strength has shocked me, also.  His calm, peaceful attitude, his jokes, his smile; it has calmed me and the rest of my family by my father's side.  He has taken this situation and made it a remarkable experience for all of us.  He has made peace with himself enough to know what is happening and he has full faith that my father will fight, regardless of his physical status.  He has convinced me and soothed me in this time of tragic wondering.  His strong will and his optimism has made my father yearn to fight.  He is my strength and my words of reason when my mind gets clouded with despair.

People ask me if I'm hopeful in this battle my family is facing with my father.  I tell them that I am only hopeful that my father will prove me wrong.  These past few days, while he's lying in a hospital bed, I have been proven very wrong.  He has looked right at me, without knowing what I'm thinking, and told me with his eyes, "No, Malia. You are wrong.  I will fight the weakness and pain in my body and I will persevere in this battle.  I am going to get strong enough to take this cancer head-on."   And this strength and assurance is the wonderful man I call my father.

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