Another tug at the heartstrings...

This whole cancer thing just really, really sucks.  It snatches people away in our lives all the time.  It's an evil and cunning little spiteful disease.  It knows no boundaries.  It takes away babies, toddlers, children, teenagers and adults.  So many diagnoses, so little cure.  I think that my daddy was actually really lucky to have fought cancer for as long as he did.  Maybe that sounds strange, but that's how I feel.  He was diagnosed with stage 2/3 lung cancer in October of 2008.  He successfully went through grueling radiation treatments (35 total) in the beginning of 2009.  And from then until last summer, we were able to spend quality time together.  The bond between us grew stronger than I ever imagined.  I think we both knew that we were on "borrowed" time, so we made our time together count.  When his COPD worsened and then we found out that the lung cancer had metastasized into his bones, obviously I was devastated.  It had only been a year since I lost my only sibling, and I wasn't ready to go through another loss.  But fate is a weird thing.  And when it was dad's time to go, he was gone.  He didn't suffer a lot and God took him in the early part of the morning on September 15th, 2011.  I never imagined the night before when I told him that I loved him and kissed him on the cheek would be the last time I'd see him alive.  I went through a lot of emotion then....and I still go through it now.  It's not something that I feel like I can just bounce back from.  I was, after all, daddy's little girl.  Dad was my hero.  No, let me rephrase...dad IS my hero.  He may not be here physically, but he's in my heart...and he's on my mind.  And he fought that spiteful thing called cancer with all the dignity and grace imaginable.  Not once complaining....not once having a negative attitude.  His legacy lives on through me.  I'd like to think that, anyway.  I really want to be more like him.  Because he was such a great guy....a wonderful daddy.  Cancer took him away, but he's still with me.  I can feel his presence, and I can see him when I smile in the mirror.  Kinda cool how that works.




Dad, Easter two years ago.  I miss that smile.  I miss his voice.  Love you, daddy.