Dad

My dad is an interesting guy. Born and raised in Calgary to an upper middle class family, he had a pretty charmed life in terms of material things and support. Sporting long hair and a beard in the late ’60s and early ’70s, he espoused the peace, love, and happiness of hippies while maintaining a good relationship with his relatively straight-laced family. A dad with chronic pain who never once complained and a hyper-critical mum also meant my dad grew up not talking too much about how he felt. He married my mum in 1983 and in a few years my sister and I entered the picture.

I think my dad was always meant to be a dad. He loves kids, he loves teaching, and he loves helping people. He’s given me guff over the years for not having kids of my own, as he’s long wanted to be a grandpa. While I don’t think I’ll be able to give him what he really wants on that front, he doesn’t hold it against me (that I can tell, anyway). I’ve always been able to rely on my dad.

When I was in my mid-teens, he was diagnosed with cancer. It started as bladder cancer and spread a bit from there. He underwent surgery, treatments, and years of follow-up appointments to prevent its return. He had a heart attack a few short years later. He had the presence of mind to recognize it for what it was, called an ambulance, and was saved from a widowmaker of an attack. Having dodged death twice, you could say he’s been extremely fortunate, as have we all as his family.

He’s been a lifelong smoker and in recent years that’s caught up with him. He developed COPD a few years ago and has had a frightful cough for longer. Now so familiar with the doctor, he went in for a routine checkup and his doc discovered a small growth in one of his lungs. Suspicious, they monitored it for a couple of years before referring him to an oncologist, who confirmed it was cancer. Very slow growing, but growing none the less. They’ve referred him for targeted laser therapy to try and eliminate the tumour before it gets larger or spreads elsewhere.

He never talks about it, but I can tell he’s nervous. I have long been a very anxious person, and at points over the years that anxiety has taken over. It’s turned me into a shell of a person and reduced my ability to function to next to nothing. I’ve been attending therapy for it for years now and have worked to a point where it doesn’t often grab hold anymore. My dad (and my mum and sister, truthfully) have a tendency of not telling me things out of fear that I’ll become an anxious wreck again. While I understand their reasoning, I don’t think they understand the amount of work I’ve done to become more resilient in the face of it and it hurts me deeply to be unaware of issues affecting them. My sister probably has the best idea of what I’m able to handle and will fill me in when she thinks I ought to know something, bless her. I think my dad has been downplaying how he’s feeling, at least around me, to avoid making me upset. Maybe it’s to keep himself from getting more upset. Maybe he’s legitimately not too worried. I can’t be sure, as he’s not one to express himself overly much. Whatever the case, he’s carrying that right now and continuing on as best he can.

I’ve been really sick for the past couple of weeks. A head cold that turned into a sinus infection that resisted antibiotic treatment and has now rendered me exhausted and breathless. I was at my wit’s end today awaiting an appointment with a doctor. I’m normally not one to ask for help when it comes to health issues, but I felt dismal today before my appointment. Lightheaded, dizzy, short of breath, underslept, and so short of energy it’s not even funny, I called my dad. I asked if he would be willing to take me to the doctor, even though it’s close, because I didn’t think I’d be okay to drive myself. He didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

He arrived ten minutes early, in a warm puffy coat, his new glasses, and a toque with a bright pompom that he got at a garage sale. The roads have been very slippery and he carefully navigated the ice sheets that are the side streets here to deliver me to the doctor, waiting in the parking lot in -25 degree weather for me to finish. He took me to the grocery store with a pharmacy to fill my prescriptions, and when they didn’t have what I needed, he took me to another. He sat patiently when I cried in the car, venting my frustrations and tiredness at him. He listened and soothed (just a bit, he’s not a soother by nature).

When we got back to my house, he came in at my behest to look at the plants my partner and I have been nurturing and the new changes to the office. It had been a long while since my dad was last in my home, and that broke my heart. It’s a small house so hosting is tough, but I need to remedy his absence as soon as possible. He marveled at the orchid I was enthusing to him about and we chatted at the door before he left for about ten minutes.

In the car, I looked at him as though I hadn’t seen him in year. No longer the dad from my youth, he’s fuzzier and whiter than ever before. Smaller, more stooped. His reflexes are nowhere near where they once were and he’s overly cautious as a result. It made me wonder how much longer he’ll be able to drive on his own. An overwhelming wave of love cascaded over me sitting in that passenger seat. While he and I don’t see eye-to-eye on some things, I’ve never doubted his love for me. His absence from my home, the avoidance in telling me about his health issues, and my generally tumultuous emotional state for the past few years make me wonder if he ever doubts my love for him. It feels as though my heart dissolves into nothing, like cotton candy in water, at the idea that he could question my love for him.

I sincerely hope he knows it’s never in question. I always tell him I love him, but I’ll be sure to be more emphatic about it going forward. Thank you Dad. I love you.