Tuesday, August 9, 2011
I'm The Other Woman
I wrote this blog the day after my Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 non-small cell lung cancer. I didn't want to post it prematurely. We buried Daddy today and I am certain that the rest of my life will be totally different. I still don't know what I'll do without my Dad around. Here's what I wrote on the 14th of June:
I managed to get out for a run today, in an effort to clear my mind and ease some stress. Ha. How can that possibly happen? As I began the run, a million thoughts were going through my head. What on earth will I do if my Daddy doesn't beat this? Is he strong enough to take the treatments he'll need? Does he even want to live the life that the treatments will cause? I know what the diagnosis means - what the numbers are. I know that this will be an uphill fight and that his days are probably numbered, be it two months or two years. They are numbered. What do I do? Stay here? Go home? If I go home, I bring lots of chaos and I just don't want to impose that. What help can I be? Maybe God has a miracle slated for Dad. Maybe He will make this all go away. But I don't think so. About two minutes into my run, I passed a house with a banner hanging on it - "WELCOME HOME DADDY!" Hand-painted, in kids' handwriting. We do live on an Air Force base, so this might not seem like anything special. But today it was. It made me wonder: Do they have those signs in heaven? For the Daddies who go to heaven? Wait. Is my Daddy going to heaven? Suddenly, I believed that sign was put there for me. Like God was telling me that it was time for my Daddy to go Home. So I immediately began to pray. Hard. Pray for guidance, for healing, for strength, for a miracle. But all of a sudden, it hit me: I was going against God. How could I compete with God? I suddenly felt like I was the other woman, trying to convince God to let Dad choose me. Over God. How could I expect him to do that? How could I expect anyone to choose me over God? He will...and should...choose to be with God. It was clear to me then - I don't know when, but he will go Home fairly soon. I just hope there's a sign welcoming him when he gets there. Because he deserves at least that. I love you, Daddy. And I'll miss you when you go.
With nearly 200 people at his visitation and over 300 at his service, it was obvious that I am not the only one who will miss him.