"Happy Mother's Day!" I
enthusiastically say into the phone on this happiest of days. Though I am
unable to be home to offer my mother these joyous wishes, I have faithfully
called her every Sunday for the past decade just to see how she has been. On
this special day I make sure to call early, as she and my father are enjoying
their time together at my family's lake house.
"Thank you Bobby, that's very kind
of you," she curtly says, a slight departure from her usual show of
appreciation that is always rife with laughter and generous gratitude. She says
nothing more until I inquire about how her week has been and ask if she and my
father are enjoying their time at the lake, but her answers are all very terse,
without description or elaboration. Something is wrong, I can sense it in her
voice. Finally, she says, "Your father wants to speak to you."
She hands my father the phone and I hear
his somber voice, "Hi Bobby, there's something I need to tell you..."
I don't remember all the words that followed.
I don't remember his explanation of what would happen next or what this will
mean for our family. All I remember are the tears, the tears that fell like raindrops
from my eyes and formed puddles on the floor that I collapsed onto. All I
remember is that single word, that most insidious of enemies that tears families
apart and makes grown men weep: Cancer.
While I can do nothing to restrain my
sobbing, he tells me that the doctors have caught it early, that there is a
good chance of survival, but this does nothing to alleviate my heartbreak. This
is my father, the man who held my hand when first I learned to walk as a child,
who taught me to ride a bicycle and coached all of my little league games. He
instilled in me the importance of hard work and never giving up on my dreams,
and should I ever one day be blessed with the titles of husband and father, it
is in his mold that I can only hope to follow. More than anyone else in my
life, his presence has had the greatest impact and has completely shaped the man
I am today. He is the lion of my family...and I love him.
As he speaks of the treatment options, he
pauses to ask, "Are you alright Bobby?"
"No dad, I'm not..." I barely
manage through the tears.
"Everything will be fine son,"
he says, his voice so calm and reassuring. And I believe him. I believe that
everything really will be fine. Not because of what any doctor may say or the
statistics they use to validate their prognosis, but instead because the
assurances have come from the one man whom I trust more than any other, the man
I love more than any other: My father, and if he is brave enough to be strong
in the face of such adversity then I will pick up my sword to do battle beside
him. He will beat this cancer. My family will beat this cancer. And after we
have rid ourselves of this menacing enemy that seeks to tear my family apart,
we will be that much stronger because of it. Together always...something that
no disease will ever claim.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I will continue writing our fairytale
Ornela, I promise. I just needed to take a moment to reflect on some very
difficult emotions right now. You are the first person I wanted to call after learning
that my father is so sick, just to hear you say that everything will be
alright, but I know I can't do that now. From a thousand miles away I just want
to cry into your arms.
No comments:
Post a Comment