Personal Loss

At times I doubt my memories and feel as though time is slowly erasing you from me like an etch-a-sketch. That concept alone scares me more than death itself.

Today I try to remember if I can picture what you looked like the last time I saw you: as the father I knew, rather than the illness I saw you become so many years ago. I can picture your pale-skinned face covered with Irish freckles. I can imagine looking into your clear blue eyes through your thick brown glasses into a soul that is full of laughter and humor. I can remember your curly hair and how it reminded me of thick twine. The once full head of curls is now starting to thin with hidden grey hairs you could only see when you are close. I can envision feeling your ears that stick out a more than normal listening to my every word and waiting with baited-breath for me to continue. I remember your hands that held me so close and provided me with trust and comfort, even though they had seen harder days. I can remember how those hands held my hands, dried my tears and hugged me close day after day. I remember your hands most.

What I can not forget is the day the fight was over. The day I no longer could look into your eyes, feel your hair through my fingers or look forward to telling you my stories. I can not forget the day I knew your hands would never be able to physically embrace mine when times got tough.

Today I try to imagine what I would say if you were able to visit me one last time. Would you take shape of the 40 year old father I remember, the cachetic 43 year old dying man or did your body keep aging while you were gone these past 12 years? In any circumstance, I feel I would know it was you from your presence. I would begin by telling you I forgive you. To assure you I am OK. I would hug you and tell you how much I have missed you and validate your existence on the day I got my license, graduated from high school and college, on my wedding day and at the birth of my niece and nephew. I would tell you I could feel your presence all around me knowing you were there watching. I would make sure you knew I could hear the encouraging words when life got tough and your ability to listen when there was something I needed to say or just be there when i cry. I would cradle your hands inside mine and tell you I love you. And thank you for showing me that every life needs sunshine especially on darkest of days. That being present and showing someone you are there for them is medicine for the soul and the soul needs healing too. And there is no reason not to laugh - it only brings people closer together and a stronger bond is made.

Ernest Hemingway once said "Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another." But with each passing day I fear my fathers life and death will fade from my memory like an old photograph. The smallest details I promised myself I would never forget simply diminish as though they never existed. Even though the images of my father have greatest meaning to me now, its my fathers death that allows me to provide people diagnosed with cancer a sense of protection, trust and understanding. Its my own personal loss of my father at age 15 that allows me to identify with families dealing with unfortunate circumstances. It is my fathers ability to live through my nursing career that helps me encourage those who lose hope, assist with those who need help, provide educate and care for patients and their families when they feel as though their worlds have been turned upside down. I became an oncology nurse because of my father and fortunately I can imagine him taking every step with me along the way holding my hand.