The Pending Death of My Father

My rants have been kinda limited lately. I’ve been dealing w/some bad news I got this week. I haven’t quite digested all of it until now.

My father has been battling lung cancer for the past year. He had a grapefruit sized tumor removed from his upper left lung back in October. They discovered recently it has metastasized into his hip bones. This type of cancer is not treatable and non-operable. Basically, right now he is in a hospice testing his tolerance for pain and what meds are most effective at the smallest dosage. Once that’s over, he gets to go home to live out his remaining days. There is zero hope of recovery.

Now for those of you that know me, you know there isn’t much love loss between my family and myself. Mainly over my coming out nightmare. But that’s sorta just the icing on the cake so to speak. My childhood evolved from one tragedy to the next and its not a part of my life that I reflect upon often. To understand my thoughts now, its probably best if you go back and read the history. Otherwise, the context of the next paragraph will be completely lost on you. I often use harsh sarcasm and puns to describe my family. (ie…if you trace the roots of white trash back to its origins, you’d find my family tree)

This news has brought forth a few inner demons I thought long exorcized. In trying to resolve some of the conflicting emotions, I’ve come to realize I still love my father. Not as deeply as the normal father/son relationship but love nonetheless. Honestly, this is a bit of a surprise. I often joke that his passing would be a release. The same release that I welcomed when my step mother, Satan-in-drag, finally died and left us for the underworld. (Like I said, you need to read the history.) I find myself wishing he wasn’t sick and I keep asking myself why. He robbed me of so much as a child and as an adult why should I love him? I never got to do ANY of the father/son things that fathers do w/their kids. He doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves the love of a child they so harshly abandoned. The only good memories I have of him are back when I was very young before the death of my foster mother. Everything after that is just ugly.

Deserving or not, I did forgive him. I find that I don’t care about the reasons. My father and I currently have a very distant relationship. I see him about once a year and I never make more than a day of it. We talk, catch up on our lives, and I quickly realize why I fled bum fuck nowhere Texas ages ago. So, now I’m in the position to cause harm or comfort. I find myself only wanting to comfort him. I guess that says good things about me. I just can’t help thinking about all the things that could have been had he not been so closed minded.