“There's not much to say, so I'll keep it brief. In the last 24 hours things have changed wildly. Myself, and my brother are here with my father, and in consultation with him and his phenomenal medical team, the treatments are no longer working or viable. We are moving forward making him comfortable and talking with him as much as we can as our remaining time is short, and utterly precious. He's an incredible man, and he (and my family) thank you all so much for your love, support, thoughts, and prayers. He rallied for so long, and fought so hard, and now it's time to rest. At this point, all I ask is your continued love and support, and respect for his privacy through this hard time. I will update as I can if there is any updated information. We love you all, thank you so much, really, I can't thank you enough.”
One year ago today I wrote those fateful words on the Caringbridge account for my father. February 3rd, the anniversary of his death, will always be a hard day for me, but I think January 29th is potentially harder. January 29th was the day I watched my father lose hope, and I began to discover a new language.
On January 28th, 2016, I sat down with Dad to ask him a very tough question. I told him that tomorrow we were going to have a talk with his team of doctors, because he was in no mental state to make his own medical decisions between the cancer, the pneumonia, and the amount of drugs they were pumping into his system. I told him that a big part of which was to answer the question “do we want to keep fighting this thing?”
He didn't understand.
I find myself hilarious, and I use this blog to stroke my own ego. Thanks for indulging me.