Waiting on a small prayer, lost in a nightmare

December 26, 2008

For as long as I can remember I have longed for a relationship with my father. A real relationship. I try in the depths of night to remember even a single memory from my childhood of my father, and I cant. The heart wrenching part of it all is that growing up we have always lived under the same roof, ate the same meals. I remember being 8 and my mother sitting us down on our back porch wanting to have a discussion about 'how daddy could be a better daddy'. All that remains in the corners of my mind is sitting in a completely uncomfortable silence and looking at my father who clearly was only interested in the score of the Redskins Game. That was probably about the time I let go of all expectations. That was when I found it necessary to build my now highly evolved defensive mechanism, equipped with an army of soldiers ready for war at any moment. Zero expectations = Zero disappointments. I was eight and I understood that.

I spent the rest of my childhood waiting. All of my brothers have always had 'issues'. I have always been self sufficient. I put myself to bed since I was in kindergarten. I wish I was joking. They never worried about me. I read my own bedtime stories, rolled over and then woke myself up in the am for school. I would get off the bus, go home and do my homework unprompted. I always made straight A's, I simply always did what I was supposed to do. My fondest memories of childhood were when my mother would sit beside my bed and tell me stories. With age it has given me a much different vantage point. I stayed up at night waiting for her to be done with 'the boys'. I would fight sleep until I heard those footsteps. Waiting in anticipation I would think of questions to ask her. Anything. Anything at all. I remember on several occasions pretending not to know how to braid hair just so she would touch mine.

Both of my brothers have always been projects. They always needed guidance. They still do. Somehow in the wake of loosing my mother, I have found myself a mother to a 61 year old, a 24 year old and a 19 year old. Once upon a time I judged my mother for enabling every male in my family to be completely dependent imbeciles who couldn't fend for themselves. I was determined to leave, never look back and never be like any of 'them'. I wanted in the root of my soul to depart on whim with little explanation and write from another country and make everyone wonder. I had the next ten years of my life figured out. Undergrad in 3 years, 2nd internship, peace corps, MSA, CPA and then real world in London, Prague, Rome, Sydney - anywhere. Nothing would stop me. Nothing could. I had always been a freight train. Now I fear I have become the enabling agent. I can't let go and watch them fall on their faces. I just cant. Not yet.

Every obstacle I thought life once held for me, I now realize were all walls I built for myself. I existed in my own prison doing a sentence only I had cast upon myself. I once thought I was incapable of real relationships with anyone, male or female. I thought I couldn't be a real friend because I wasn't capable, I could never trust but more than that I feared I could never love. Allowing a male in my life permanently, well that was simply out of the question. Males were the enemy. Good for nothing. I had always taken care of myself, I planned on making my own money what did I need a guy for? I didnt want children, I was afraid I was irreparably like my father - cold. The truth is I was absolutely petrified of being hurt. Paralyzed even. I simply couldn't handle someone leaving me. It was my biggest fear - abandonment.

Then the rug was pulled right out from underneath me. My biggest fears realized. My foundation was completely shattered. The only person I had ever expected to be there, the only thing that had really remained constant in my life. The only person who really knew me, gone. Where do you go with that? Well, all I can say is it was a long ugly dark road that I refuse to ever revisit.

But, in the wake of loosing my mother, I was given my father. That was her final gift. A man who I hardly knew and hardly cared to know was suddenly the only person I had to look up to, to make proud. And this too has been a long, bumpy road. We are two peas in a pod – both undoubtedly always right. But the key was, I had to forgive him. I just had to, for survival.

Growing up my friends always called my dad 'the phantom' because he was this mystical character that everyone knew existed but no one saw. I'm not sure which is worse growing up completely without a father, or growing up knowing you were being ignored on daily basis. He never came to a single softball game, soccer game, girl scout meeting. He never saw a single speech I gave. Not even in high school when I had the honor to compete in the final round of the New York State math fair, and won bronze. I remember after my freshman year in college I was on my way to interview for an internship over the summer (which I ended up getting –whohoo) and our printer at home wouldn't work. So, I frantically emailed him my resume so he could print it at his work. When I went to pick it up, he handed it to me and said 'Wow Kate, I really had no idea you'd done all of this'. In that instant I wanted to take a two by four and smack him across the head with it and say 'I know, I remember. You weren't there'. But true to form instead I smiled, said thank you and walked away, heart still beating on the floor.

It is so odd now though. I have an amazing relationship with my father. The man who is with me now, is not the man I grew up with. It is difficult to resent someone for actions that are so out of their character to date. (FYI, he just walked in brought me a cup of coffee and kissed me on the forehead to say good morning.) He just didn't know how to relate – to anyone. At one point probably the most emotionally unintelligent person I'd ever encountered. He couldn't hug. He couldn't say I love you. It just wasn't in him. This man is not the same one that at nine years old watched me cry on the cold floor of my bedroom for over and hour, yelling all the while because I wasn't 'intelligent' enough to figure out the combination of pieces to the arm of the vacuum to dust my dresser. He defined 'tough love'. In many ways I owe him a large thank you for making me a fighter. He grew up with the old southern view of holding women and men on different levels. I was hell bent on proving him wrong. I would do my brothers outdoor chores for free just to show him I too could chop wood for the fireplace and could climb on the roof. I was no dainty girl. I was tough. Something that has never left me. I have always been the girl that rather than sunbathing hops on the wake board, jet ski whatever and comes home with bruises rather than a tan. (And yes, I am also the girl who goes grocery shopping in four inch pumps haha - you can take the girl outta long island but..) I owe that to him. If a boy could do it, was going to as well there were always going to be equal playing fields. Something that has been so beneficial in my mindset for the workforce. And I guess growing up with four brothers helped in that too. I grew up 'playing' football with them. In reality it was pass the ball to Kaitie and then plummet her to the ground. I would get the wind knocked out of me so frequently that it didn't even phase me any more. I would get up, wait for my lungs to inflate and then chase them down. Its almost comical because now the thing I most frequently hear from my father is that "It doesn't make you less of a women to let a man help you Kate." A lesson I am going to have to learn the hard way, my entire upbringing tells me otherwise.

My brothers and I call him "SD", he is either 'SuperDad' showing up with all these lavish gifts for no reason at all, or he was 'SpermDoner' dad who had simply given you your genetic code and nothing more was expected. He would fix his inability to show love with buying us things. I had my first Louis Vuitton at 14, and a Prada backpack at 15, just because. Every birthday I'd get a new diamond or ruby ring. First diamond studs - second grade, that's absurd. When your that young, and you live on long island mind you, things like this make your father really really cool. Five months after my Twenty-first birthday my dad gave me this gorgeous diamond, ruby and sapphire double sided heart pendant necklace- in platinum, as a birthday present because he felt guilty for a fight we had just been in and for not getting me anything on my actual birthday. And mind you, he bought it on a vacation he just took with his new girlfriend in an effort to play the good dad role in front of her. I looked at it and told him while I would love to wear it, I would never be able to. I was no longer a pre-teen who could be bought, the whole thing was a sham and I gave it back. I still have no idea what he did with it. Those types of gifts are empty and make for an empty shell where a heart should be. I have always said to my friends that I would give it all up, all of it if I could just have him, him in his entirety the way it was meant to be.

Cosmically I have gotten my wish in every sense of the word. Stock market – crash. Because of my fathers health he has to retire. Too bad 401K's are face value at the time of retirement. 60% of all savings gone. Let me stress the importance of diversified stock portfolios people. The jig is up ladies and gents. And that's just life. I grew up in this lavish world and thankfully all the while I knew it was fake. I'm so glad I am intelligent enough to create my own career rather than try to ride the curtails of a man. I see a lot of my 'fortunate' friends who live in this bubble and just think daddy or hubby will always work things out for you. Wake up ladies. I cant even relate to my Raleigh friends, everyone is the Jones' and everyone is racing to keep up.

I have had several people tell me I am making a mistake in moving in with my father and transferring to NC State, even though I was about to graduate. I couldn't disagree more. Other than the obvious physical need, he needs someone to emotionally take care of him too. The psyche of a patient is sometimes your best weapon. This is the fight of his life, but it's the fight of mine as well. Every deep seeded issue I have comes from a lack of a relationship with him. I have one shot to fix it, one - for the rest of my life. I will be damned if I'm going to waste it in Wilmington taking shots at some bar while my father prepares to leave this world. To me that is the most selfish scenario and I cant even wrap my head around people telling me – THAT is what I should be doing. That my friends is not living. What I am doing now and what I am preparing to do is where life is, in every good and bad sense. If I've learned anything its that we cant get to the absurdly fulfilling moments in life with out being prepared to experience the muck. I don't know how long hes got. But whether its three months or three years, I'm right where I need to be – from reading to him during chemo treatments and fixing him vegetable soup to making him take his meds and bandaging his wounds. But most importantly to make him laugh.

While I would love to hold onto my father for all of eternity, I know this is not possible. I will be so thankful if he makes it through this next year and blessed if into the next. I cant think about everything at one time. It breaks my heart for him and for my mother. He will never walk me down the isle of my wedding and he will never meet my children. And it hurts that none of my children will ever know the capacity that their grandparents would have loved them. What hurts more is both of my parents knew none of these blessings would be a part of their future. I cant begin to imagine how that could feel on a daily basis.

Similarly I have had people tell me they cant imagine how I feel on a daily basis. Once upon a time it would bother me to hear these things, to have people tell me they envied my strength. In my mind, its not about me at all. Right now its about my dad. And there is not a single thing about my situation that anyone envies. What does strength mean anyway? Getting a really shitty hand of cards at life and still waking up in the morning? Either way I view it differently now. I see how I impact people. For some reason I have the ability to speak to people, a tool I am intent on cultivating. If I can help you get through your day, what could possibly be more honorable than that? Somehow I know I am bound for truly great things. I feel it in my soul.The almost ironic part is that all this has been the best blessing in the worst disguise. And I am so impossibly happy that I am not sure I could ever put my feelings into words. I feel like I don't even have the right to be happy. I feel like in the wake of everything it is so impossibly ridiculous that I could wake up with a genuine smile on my face. Many of my friend's parents tell me that I am not at all what they expected, because I seem so happy and bubbly. The only response I know to give, is that it is a daily conscience decision. Hope and optimism are where the struggle is. Cynicism is so easy, who couldn't put all their woes in a basket and count them? I am determined to not allow life to make me bitter, even in all the ugly despair it can bring. Their is nothing more tragic than a cynic that still has youth to me.

With every ounce of my body I need to believe in miracles. I have to believe that something out of the ordinary can come out to this, because this entire situation is out of the ordinary. We have defied statistics in even being troubled with this most tragic and rare form of cancer TWICE that I have to believe that we can defy all odds again and he can survive this. I have to believe. He can be part of that 3% that make it past two years right? Stage IV, whatever. We can lick this. Right? Right?!

His next treatment is on the 29th. He'll be released on the third. I had planned on going to NYC for new years, and I will be spending it in a much different way than I originally thought. We try and make light of shitty situations though. Ive made cheese plates and were bringing sparkling grape juice for all the nurses. I have all kinds of decorations, which is a surprise to the big man , Im just adding to Peters Party Palace. That's what he actually calls his chemo room. After his first surgery he came out and looked and me and asked me why I looked so glum. He said that while we were there we might as well have a party, and 50 cent and lil' kim were going to show up at any moment. That was about when he began rapping about how amazing it was these doctors were getting him doped up. God, I love this man and his reliance. He gets his first full body CT scan since this nightmare started back in August on December the 29th. I am crossing every finger, toe, limb that Ive got. It has already metastasized, we found that out at diagnosis but I just need to hear good news. I need it. I really think we deserve a break.

In loosing my mother, somehow I found my father. I pray that in loosing my father, I will find myself.