Spring has finally sprung here in Boise, although we are still having very cool mornings. Alas, my rose bushes did not survive the winter and will need to be replaced. But everything else (including the lawn) seems to have survived the epic snowfalls of this past winter, thanks be to God. It’s such an interesting juxtaposition in my life right now…watching the trees and the flowers bloom while holding in my heart the fact that my Dad is dying. It’s bittersweet and hard…and all I can do is pay attention to every moment in an effort to make time move more slowly.
My Dad has received a terminal diagnosis – Stage 4 bladder cancer. The cancer is characterized as “aggressive” and “high grade” and it has spread to the bones of his pelvis and his lungs. He sleeps most of the time now. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. When he is awake, he seems reasonably lucid on the phone, but he’s also not all there. Related to a series of confusing mis-communications from doctors and nurse practitioners, he is paranoid and refusing hospice for now. Please pray for clarity and peace for all concerned.
I feel as if this experience – and the sorrow that accompanies it – has clasped me firmly by the hand and is pulling me into a new room within myself. I see now that the room has always been there, waiting for me, though it has been out of my awareness until now because losing one or both of my parents has always been an abstract notion. The door stands ajar now, refusing to be ignored. What I find, much to my surprise, is that there are people in that room. People who have had to walk through their own doors of loss. People who are on intimate terms with this pain and who reach out in love, compassion, and generosity. People for whom my heart will always be immensely grateful.