Entry 24: The Breakthrough

I prepared for another death without closure, as Dad approached 18 months. His decline had been slow in spite of having an aggressive kind of cancer, with him having already survived 12 months past his expiration date. He'd had very little symptoms up to this point, but then one morning he woke up in excruciating pain, claiming a hernia, as a large bulge protruded from his body. "It's not a hernia," his family doctor said after examining the x-rays. "The tumors have grown, and one of them is now pushing out an organ."

So, my sister, stepmom and I huddled in the Oncologist's examining room with Dad a couple of days later, to determine next steps. Right from the beginning, this Oncologist had disliked my father immensely, as he wore his God complex like a finely tailored suit. He'd relentlessly pushed chemo in spite of Dad standing before him well, and experiencing very little symptoms. He'd tried a couple of rounds of chemo right after his diagnosis, but he'd gotten so ill from it, that he decided quality was more important that quantity. And yet somehow he'd received both, which had especially irked the doctor to have this miracle in front of him. But unfortunately miracles only last so long, and here was Dad now standing before him nothing but skin and bones, with an unusually swollen stomach that made him look nine months pregnant. The cancer had finally gotten him, and I sensed an air of satisfaction as the doctor pushed down on Dad's stomach as he winced in pain.

"Tapping's will need to begin at the hospital, as there's now a fluid build-up within your abdomen. This is a sign that you're in the final stages of the disease," he said to Dad, completely void of empathy. He'd despised questions, but we asked them anyway, as the doctor grasped the door handle, desperate to escape. All I could focus on was the words "final stages" as I felt my chest tighten.

His first tapping was scheduled that Friday, and I'd been put in charge of him for the entire weekend, after my stepmom and sister decided to attend a three day religious event. I'd been pulled into the procedure room, and had watched the fluid syphoned from Dad's abdomen as it filled beaker after beaker. It had been emotional to watch, but I managed to keep it together so as not to upset him. Fortunately, it had alleviated much of the pain he'd been experiencing, so much so, that as we left the hospital he said, "Let's pick up a hamburger, I'm starving."

We sat together in the living room with our hamburgers, as he took small bites while reminiscing about his past and childhood. I'd never heard these stories before, and I held onto every word as I pictured him as a little boy full of hopes and dreams, before life had taken its toll. We laughed together, I asked questions, and then suddenly he stopped mid sentence and asked, "So, now that you're spending all this time with us, do you think you'd be willing to return to the church?"

"With us." There were the words, once again reminding me that I was still on the outside. I could immediately feel the pain rise up, but I pushed it back down again. I had no more fight in me, I was exhausted, and in spite of Dad asking the question, I could tell he didn't have any fight either. So, I removed the edge from my words and began to speak in an especially calm manner. I began by thanking him for the way I was raised, and the values instilled within me. Then I said, "As adults though, we all all have the right to decide what's best, and no one else can do that for us. The thing is, since I was young, the religion never felt right to me, and the older I got, the more unhappy and trapped I felt. When I finally decided to leave the church, I felt so much relief, like a bird that had just been let out of its cage. And for the first time, I felt like I could truly breathe."

He looked both surprised and wounded by my words. "I'm so sorry, Ellie. I had no idea you felt that way, and that you were so unhappy."

"I hid it from everyone, thinking it would be easier to just go through the motions and fake it, rather than chance losing everything. But you can only do that for so long before it starts to take its toll. And in the end, I had to choose the path that was right for me, because had I not done that, I don't know I'd be with you here today. I know you'd love for me to return to the church, but I also know that as a father you want me to be happy, and unfortunately I wouldn't be."

I could hear the defeat behind his words. "You're right, I'd only want you to return if it was in your heart."

"And it's not, I'm sorry. Me leaving the religion was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life, but in the end, I have no regrets. It was only ever about me needing to find happiness, and never about me trying to intentionally hurt you. I need you to know that, and I need you to know that I love you."

Suddenly he began to cry. "I know you do, and I love you too. You're my daughter, Ellie."

After we finished our conversation, there was a lightness between us, as if we were two old friends catching up after years apart. I'd struggled to understand my father most of my life, but now there was nothing I wanted more, as he returned to stories of his past.

"This has been the most extraordinary day with you," he said, as we took a drive in the country the following day, among the glistening wheatfields. I went to respond but choked on my words, as I felt my heart burst open with so much love that I could barely breathe. We'd finally made our way back to each other, and as beautiful as that was, I was about to lose him again, and there was nothing in the world that seemed more unfair than that.