Coming to the hospital, it hit me – hard.
I’m going to lose my father. Probably sooner rather than later.
It’s been all but confirmed: he has cancer in his liver, his lung, his pancreas and on his bones. I’m assuming we’ll get an official confirmation in about 8 1/2 hours when we meet with his doctors.
I’m not ready to lose him, but I can’t stand seeing him in this kind of pain. The drugs he’s on are making him speak in non-sense; see things that aren’t there. Now, he’s talking about things from when he was a kid. If I didn’t know better, I would suspect that it had spread to his brain; or that maybe he has Alzheimer’s.
The son becomes that father and the father becomes the son.
In the last two weeks, I have watched him transform in sickly, old man. It’s a pretty surreal transformation to witness when there’s still the spirit of a five-year-old within you who is convinced that your Dad is the strongest person in the world.
I’m spending the night in the hospital room with him. The overnight nurse suggested that someone stay – partially because of the way the drugs affect him; and partially because of his overall condition. As eerie as this vigil feels, I have the feeling I may be very glad I agreed to stay with him tonight.