A Poem

May
Your

Days
Always
Dawn

Happily
And
Serenely.

Cherish
All
New
Challenges,
Ever
Ready.

-------------------

I wrote that poem on August 26, 2009. The day after I found out my dad had prostate cancer. The first letter of every word, reading down, was my inspiration for the poem.

My dad has always been a very healthy man. He worked a full-time,manual-labor job for 35 years. He worked on his farm and yard in his "spare" time. He drank a lot of water and no booze. He like ice cream and candy and salty foods, and those were his only weaknesses as far as I remember.

He started going to the doctor in his late 40's/early 50's for regular "I'm not getting any younger" visits. He had a physical, and he did learn he needed to cut down on salt...his sugars, however, were fine. Go figure. The man eats ice cream and candy like it's going out of style, and his sugars are normal. I wish I could say that. His blood pressure was a bit out of whack, but he is treating it medication and seems to be controlled. He goes in for his regular visits, and his visit last fall showed something a little not normal.

The doctor found malignant cells that would form into prostate cancer. So, technically, it hadn’t developed into full-on cancer, but had he not been going to the doctor on such a regular basis it might not have been caught until it was too late. He had surgery and he still is being tested regularly to be sure that the cells don’t come back. It’s been almost a year.

Now, if you are a daughter and you have even a decent relationship with your dad, you understand that a little girl believes her daddy hung the moon. I was one of those little girls. My dad is an awesome man, and I am thankful that I have the relationship with him that I do. I remember realizing for the first time that he didn’t know EVERYTHING and being a little heartbroken. I remember the first (and every) time I disappointed him and how awful I felt. I remember how well he hugs every time we see each other. I remember the strange topics of conversation we share because nobody else could understand the two of us the way we understand each other.

When my sister called to tell me that Daddy had cancer, I thought I would never stop crying. I realized that my grandfather, my dad’s dad, was probably not that much older than my dad is now when he had a bad bout of brain cancer that ultimately took his life. My heart sank into my stomach to think that this man whose doctor had said was “healthy as a horse” and “healthy as a 25 year old at 45” was sick. Something inside of him was making him sick, and there was nothing I could do about. Especially from 480 miles away.

I decided that night when my sister called that I would go for a surprise visit for Labor Day weekend. I drove by myself. It was the first time I had made that drive alone in almost 5 years. I thought about my life and my dad’s life and our family’s lives the entire drive. When I arrived at 2:00am, I crashed in my bedroom at my sister’s house and cried myself to sleep. On that Saturday, my whole family met at my sister’s for a cookout. I hid with my middle niece in her bedroom. After everyone had shown up, my sister sent my mom back to “wake up Rebecca.” I surprised my mother, and she was so happy I had come home. Then, I walked down the hall, through the kitchen, hushed my brother who was staring right at me with surprise in his eyes from over the kitchen bar, crossed around to the living room, and put my hand on my dad’s shoulder from behind as he sat on the couch talking to my brother. He put his hand on my hand and kept talking. Then, he looked at my hand and saw my wedding rings. He grabbed my hand then, and said with as much question as excitement, “Tammy?!?” He rose immediately, and I rushed around to the front of the couch where we locked ourselves in the most amazing hug. He was crying, and I was crying. We were both so happy to see each other – me to see that he was “okay,” and him to see that I knew he was okay.

We all spent a wonderful weekend together, and at the end I felt comfortable that everything was going to be fine.

Everything will be fine.