November, 1995. He went in for testing, and we found out that he had lung cancer. The doctor gave him 4-6 months. He fought aggressively with chemo and radiation. He lost his hair, and he lost weight. He did it gracefully, with a smile on his face. I had every reason to believe that this cancer would disappear, because he was my SuperMan. NOTHING was going to take him away from me. It couldn't, possibly.
He finished all his medicine... he never skipped a treatment.... and we waited for the phone call from the doctor, as a child waits for a report card after 6 long weeks of giving his best effort. The phone call came, and the news was bad. Treatment hadn't worked.
I do remember curling up in the back of the car and crying until it hurt. I remember finding places to go and reasons to stay away from the house. I wasn't angry with him for dying - but I couldn't bear to watch it happen. He did try to talk to me about it all, but I didn't want to talk. Perhaps this is my greatest regret... leaving him to die, without me.
I will not dwell on the final days of his life. I'm doing my best to forget the details of his last night with us. Instead, I will constantly focus on the dream I had 2 weeks after he passed. In the dream, I was laying in my bed and yearning so deeply for his presence. My mother called out to me from the kitchen and told me to "come here." I reluctantly got out of bed, opened my bedroom door, and turned the corner to find my father there on his knees. He opened his arms to take me into them. I was dumbfounded! He was beautiful... young, a head full of hair, his moustache back. I asked what... how... if he was here to stay!!? I will never forget his words, ever... "Oh baby, I'm not here to stay. I only wanted to let you know that I made it, and I'm ok." And he hugged me so tight, kissed my cheeks, tickled my face with his moustache... and we said goodbye.
I will live out my forever... and I will keep faith that he is waiting for me :)
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