The Undiscovered Country

I'm not Ready

In my last entry, I described how well my dad was doing, and for about two weeks, he was.

But then he went in to see the doctor and they discovered the cancer had picked up speed. The chemo was no longer making any difference. They gave him another chemo option, but warned him that even though it might give him a few more weeks, it would also make him very sick.

He decided to forego it, and – to use a bad cliche – let nature take it's course.

We had planned on going down for Easter, but the hospice nurse called Dave this afternoon to tell him we might want to visit him sooner. Not because he's that close to death so much, but because he's beginning to get confused. Tom will be more aware that we're there and be better able to interact with us now versus later.

But I am not ready.

I'm not ready to say goodbye.

I'm not ready to watch my dad fade away.

I'm not ready to prepare for and go to his funeral.

I'm not ready to go through his stuff and parcel it out according to his will.

I'm not ready to watch his loved ones grieve.

I'm not prepared to grieve myself.

I'm not ready to explain to my son why he'll never again see his grandfather.

I'm not ready to accept my dad will not watch my son grow up.

But ready or not, all these things must happen. I cannot avoid it, or run away screaming – as much as I want to right now.

God, give me the strength to do all those things, because I can't do it on my own.