Time

Time is such a crazy thing. It's something we so rarely truely think about. I run around crazy from day to day, never really stopping to notice the little things. Most of the time I don't even really stop to notice the big things either. Now that we're facing the very intense reality of my dad's passing becoming more and more imminent, I'm really struggling with how I've chosen to use my time lately. As my dad is slipping closer and closer into a state of no longer being able to communicate, each of the present family members has taken a few moments in private to say our good-byes. We've talked with him as a family and know when he passes he will be embraced by the arms of Christ. But I homestly think none of us feels completely at peace because of time. My dad was diagnosed with Stage IV Melanoma one month and three days ago. 34 days that have felt like they disappeared faster than the blink of an eye. Although we'll never know, supposedly the cancer has been invading his body for more like three years. I so desperately wish a few things had been different to give my family back some time. I wish that the dermatologist my dad went to see one year ago about the spot on his chin that was probably the start of all of this, had paid more attention to him. I wish so desperately that he had taken that little spot seriously and done a biopsy, even if only "to be on the safe side". A year ago would have given us the ability to take a family trip, truly carry out some family traditions and just spend more time together laughing. I desperately wish that his oncologist hadn't strung us out on hope for some treatment one month ago. I wish in addition to talking about the treatments he was hoping my dad would qualify for, he would have truly explained the gravity and seriousness of his disease and its progression and his true life expectancy to us. One month ago would have given us the ability to take another set of family pictures, record my dad reading a story for each of the grandgirls and make every second of the last 34 days count for a lifetime. As I watched my dad slip in out of consciousness tonight, I felt my heart breaking and mourning. Not so much for him passing and deparating this world but for the loss of time. For the memories we never had the chance to make. For losing out on the opportunities to record his face in a picture and his voice in a recording. For losing out on the ability to give my dad one last deep and emotional hug. I can't tell you what I would give to have him be able to sit up, wrap his arms around me and just hold me one more time. Andrea