my dad

There are moments in life that make ya think "This is it. This is a turning point. From here on out things are going to be different." I had a moment like that the other day when my mom called me to tell me that my dad has cancer. A lump just in front of his ear prompted a doctors visit. From there, an upper body scan. Then, a full body scan. Then, an appointment with the oncologist. Through the days of tearfully wondering what news the doctor would break to my dad, I looked back at all the things that my dad has been to me. I remembered how my little bare feet would step into his giant foot prints in the black dirt as we picked green beans, how my little feet would step on his as we danced at wedding receptions, how I would braid his hair and everyone would tease saying he looked like Willy Nelson. My thoughts wandered to my teenage years when my first boyfriend and I parted ways and my dad hugged me while I sobbed and how it calmed me and made me feel like everything was okay. I thought of the way he held me when grandma died. And how he would make pictures in styrofoam plates with his fork when he was done eating. I thought of how he teared up... just a bit... on my wedding day... and the days my babies were born. And I think back to all of those stupid things I did as a kid... and as a grown up. And how no matter what... no matter what... my dad has never... never turned me away. I thought about the 40 something years he and my mom have spent loving eachother and I wondered how she must be praying every minute that he'll be okay just like me and my brothers and everyone that knows and so dearly adores my dad. Because what's not to love about my dad? And I just kept thinking "I'm not ready for this. I'm just not ready."

Then, the phone rang. They think it's treatable. They will remove the lump and then decide if they need to do any radiation or chemo. And as I type this, I'm crying... out of relief... out of fear that something will "pop up"... because it's my dad. And if you knew my dad, you'd be crying too.

So, in about 11 days, I'll see my dad in a hospital bed and without a beard for the first time ever. And I realize that I'm at that point in my life that I start to worry about my parents like they worry about me and like I worry about my kids. I've reached that point in my life when I realize that... well... I'm not a spring chicken anymore. And I think about the day that my kids will have these realizations. And I wonder what will go through their minds. So, once again my folks have taught me a very valuable lesson... there's never time to waist... that I should be walking in the garden with bare foot children, dancing every chance we get and teaching them what it's like to love and be loved in every sense of the word.