He knows it's over- everyone knows- The dr's initially gave him less than a month(this was a couple of days ago) but now they are saying its even less- maybe a week-maybe a few days. When they found out- they decided they wouldn't tell him- why would they? But the following morning they came in- he told them- he had asked- so we know he must have felt it- in his heart he knew the cancer was out of control, that the tumours were getting bigger and popping out everywhere- he knew- he must have known it was over- he had lost this fight - that is why he asked..We don't think he knows how long he has.. but its better that way I think. So it was decided that I needed to go- I reluctantly agreed- I know I couldn't hide behind the children forever as much as I wanted to...

The entire way to the hospital I could have very easily thrown up. I did not eat a thing all day- and slowly sipped on my coffee with he drove-. I didn't want to go- I didn't want to be here - it didn't matter that it was dad- it could have been anyone- this is something I cannot bare- I cannot face it- my legs feel weak the second I enter a hospital- my mouth dry, I shake- hospitals are for dying- and bad news...

When we get there - (there meaning the palliative care unit) it is eerily quiet- serene almost I guess you would say- there are already people there and we sit in the waiting room but soon enough his mother comes out and tells me to go in. When I see him there I am obviously shocked. My legs almost buckle from under me. Its only been a little over 2 weeks since I saw him and he has aged 30 years it looks like. He looks just as bad as had pictured it- just like the other people I had seen in the documentary I watched about people dying of cancer.. how quickly it changed him-

His breathing is loud and intermittent and laboured. He looks like he is sleeping. She says that most of the time this is how he is- out of it . He hellucintaes and talks jibberish- I was warned before hand.. Mom says to him "Look, look your daughter is here to see you" and he immediately opens his eyes and smiles and says "Oh God.." then as he is reaching out to me says "Come here" I hug him and I felt his arms shaking as he tried to hug me. He said "I'm glad to see you" I said "I am so glad to see you too" I ask him if he is tired he says yes.. I say "Sleep then, you just sleep" and I am rubbing his swollen hand... his mother and he go out of the room and leave me with him- at which point I should have whispered to him- I should have said all the things I wanted to say like "I love you- please.. please don't go- please wake up and tell everyone you will be fine. Please don't leave me here with them- you are the only one who gets me- we're the same... please please don't die...." I should have thanked him then- I should have told him I was thankful to him for being the dad I never had- I should have told him that every night I wished it was my dad that was dying instead of him - I should have told him my babies would never be the same without him and that I needed him to stay because their father is stupid and doesn't deserve them- I should have asked him to please hold on- to please get better so he could be the father I know CC can never be to them... I should have said so much.. but I didn't- I stood there scared out of my fucken skull- wondering why everyone left me alone with him- wondering if that last breath he took would be his last- and why was there such a pause before the next breath... I stood there scared out of my fucken mind- like a child almost- scared that the cancer inside of him was going to jump out of his mouth and jump into me... I just wanted to run... I wanted to run out of there so fucken fast....


They come back in the room and CC is distraught. He is crying and holding his fathers' hand. Sometimes he gets up and kisses his forehead. I know he wants to scream out too- begging him to be ok now - I know none of this seems real to him. I know he feels helpless- I almost feel a sense of jealousy as I watch him tending to his father. I remember driving myself to the hospital and being wheeled down to surgeries alone- I remember going to every single dr's appointments by myself- hearing horrible news and having no one there to comfort me. I remember not being able to walk upright or get out of bed by myself- I remember cleaning my own dressings and injecting myself with medications because he wouldn't.. and yes it is selfish and appalling that these thoughts even enter my mind- but they did as I watched him wipe his fathers mouth and kiss him gingerly- those thoughts actually entered my mind- why wouldn't you ever comfort me - or hold me or look after me..?? I am selfish and stupid.. and I hated myself the second they entered my head but I thought them ....I did- and I don't know why..

We all took turns going in and out of the room- just watching him mostly as he slept. When I first went back into the waiting area his mother was telling everyone about how he reached out for me and how he "perked up" when he saw me. She says "He has never done that for anyone! No one! Not his sisters or his son or me! " I felt special- I felt loved- and I know that this "Story" will be told a million times now-to everyone and anyone- I know she will tell this story again and and again- that I was the only one that he responded to like that- that means something... that was my gift from him... and I will take it..

He breathing was so loud and he was struggling and I don't know how much of anything he heard or knew.. but I felt better in a weird way when we left because I know he knew I was there. Before we left I kissed him three or four times on the cheek and said "Goodnight Papa Daddy, I love you"....I know he heard me- I know he did.


I haven't been sleeping. A couple of hours here and there for the past few weeks really, but mostly this past one. It seemed like every time I closed my eyes I would dream of him- not dying necessarily- but it would wake me every time and then I wouldn't want to go back to sleep- I used to stay up when I was younger as long as I could because I couldn't bare to sleep- I know I wrote a poem about it or two - I should look for it- sleeping means dreaming. and I hate to dream.. your dreams is where you have to face everything you don't want to which is why dad kept popping into mine. Last night I slept for almost 5 hours straight- and I didn't dream.. I think seeing him (as much as I didn't want to see him like that) helped me - put me at peace.. as much as I can be.

So now it is a waiting game.. wait for the phone to ring and hope he isn't alone- or in pain.. maybe just hope he goes to sleep.