Â
Each day I spend at college is one in which my mind is obsessed with worry. Each day I spend away from home is one in which I imagine the worst happening. Each day I spend farther from my father is one in which I am swamped by guilt.
From the nights spent beneath the sterile light of the hospital to the ones with the sirens of the ambulance that scream into our silent night, these nights are the ones that haunt me in the dead of my nights now, the memories embedded in my mind.
When my dad was diagnosed with Lupus, Psoriatic Arthritis, and Ankylosing Spondylitis, I thought that maybe his mind would succumb to the disease that was slowly taking over his body. But I am always surprised by the resilience in which he treats his own life. To give up would be easy. But who said that what’s easy is what’s right?
That is something my dad has taught me.
When I first thought that these words must be written, the idea terrified me. The last thing I wanted was to pile pity on my plate. I want people to like me, the people who have experienced something similar to know they are not alone.
Sometimes I wonder at the injustice of it all.
Is it fair for my dad to wake each morning numb to nothing, granted by the pain that has grown to be a part of him?
Is it fair for for me to be consumed by this feeling of panic when I see a call pop up on my phone in class and run to make sure it’s okay?
Of course not.
But that does not change the inevitably of this. It is a part of our lives now, whether we like it or not. The most we can do is be there for each other. How am I supposed to help him now? His body is waging war, and my fear is that there could be casualties.
It’s hard to imagine who I would be without my father. He’s the one to text me song recommendations or some video he’s sure I have to see. He’s the one to poke fun at me, to read my work with an open mind and to keep me humble. Most of all, he is the one to hold me when I cry.
When he stands up and I can see him grimace in pain despite his effort to hide it, it is like my heart is breaking. Each time one piece is chipped away until one day, there may be nothing left. How am I supposed to recover this part of myself I have so deeply invested in him?
These rare times, these days when I get to see my dad, I hunt for the moments I love most: the times when he smiles or he laughs at my jokes. I know he is not afraid. So why should I be?
To anybody who reads this, I encourage you to be brave. I know how hard that can be, especially when you’re not where you feel you’re needed most. No matter how much you love your family, you have to do your best in spite of your guilt or your regret. You pursue your future to make them proud and to make you strong.
It is so important to remind others that we love them. Whether we have or haven’t experienced sickness in our family before, we never know what may happen. All it takes is one second. I tell my dad I love him everyday. I know I resent my regret, and I don’t want you to also.
So pick up your phone. Tell someone you love them.
Â