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7-20-03
The first time they searched for cancer in my fathers
body, they found it. It was colon cancer. I suppose I can say that was the first
and last time they really had to search for it. Every other time they were just
checking, confirming...that after all theyd done and all theyd tried...it remained.
And I guess I can say they knew...I say they because, well, I didnt know.. I knew he was sick, but I knew
he was strong and still young, only 50 years old and healthy...before this. How
was I to know that before my 16th birthday that my father would be dead and Id already be beginning to forget the sweet sound
of his laugh or how his arms felt around me. He was a vibrant man, a melange of determined British blood and powerful Native
American blood. He was compassionate and brilliant, he didnt deserve to suffer for years under the radation, and the chemo,
and the knife. He WAS the American man.
He attended some college, had a family, and worked hard. He did the work most men cant.
He sweat his life away every day to provide something for me and my little brother. He ate red meat, watched Westerns,
and drank his Busch beer, which eventually contributed to his cancer. People dont know what its like to lose someone like
him, someone whos so beautiful and perfect to you...someone who truly is part of you.
Its been five years. Five. Thats
how many years Ive missed out on father-daughter talks, weekends and vacations spent with him.
Feeling his arms around me. Smelling his cologne. Holding his hand. Missing
him at my graduation. Knowing he wont be there to walk me down the aisle. Five birthdays Ive missed him being there. Five Christmas that will never come back. And every year in April, the anniversary
that I sometimes wish I could forget. I still think of him, but only the ghost
of him, because Ive lost all the physical things that I associate with him.
Hes gone and I still remain.
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