I'm Angry

THIS IS YOUR TRIGGER WARNING! The subject matter involves cancer, death, anger and tanning beds. If you can't handle it, don't read it. (P.S. I'm angry.)

A few years ago, my dad DIED from melanoma that metastasized. He'd made it through prostate cancer, had numerous skin cancers removed, and on and on. He lived in agony and was sick every day for the last few months of his life. He suffered so much. And guess what he had in his house that he got in far too much? Yep, a tanning bed. 

Much of his pain and suffering could have been avoided. All for the sake of looking good, he FUCKING DIED! I'm angry about that. Still. It was not "God's will" or "God's plan". It was because of a stupid mistake, even after he knew better. He could have prevented much of his--and frankly, our--suffering. Skin cancer isn't a joke. 

So, I'm angry. And I'm pretty sure that there will be people who will be angry with me for writing this. But as I think back on the many warnings my dad had and on the disregard of those warnings, I don't care if it makes someone angry or uncomfortable. I have a right to be angry. 

My boys will not get to grow up knowing him and learning from him. One of the biggest supporters of my craft is gone. I have beautiful memories. I have not-so-beautiful memories. Memories can't talk to you on the phone. Memories can't encourage you or give you a reality check when you need it. You can't hug a memory. Cancer sucks. Period. 

Thanks for reading. 

Why Can't I Get This Written?

For two years I've been trying to write a piece about my dad. And for some reason, I can't get it written. Everything I've written comes off fake. Or makes him sound like a saint, and as much as I loved him, he wasn't.

He wasn't a bad person. He was human. He had a horrible temper, held grudges far longer than he should have, and could terrify you with a look. But he also loved his children--biological and stepchildren. He wasn't always fair, but he did love us.

His grandchildren were the light of his life. One of the biggest regrets I have is that he didn't see my boys much. We lived quite a distance away. And after he got sick with cancer, he didn't feel up to the trip or the chaos a visit would bring if we made the trip. Cancer sucks. It's one of the few diseases where the treatment poisons your body so much that it can sap your will to live.

My dad fought it, but he'd had so many other health problems and eventually he lost the fight. And he held on for his wife and kids. Until we gave him permission to let go. I miss him more than I can say.

He taught me to work with wood. We'd build things together. I love the smell of fresh cut lumber. I sometimes wander the lumber store just to bring back those memories. I learned to change oil, change brake shoes, and clean battery connections from him, too. I've helped him haul wood, herd cattle (a comedy, trust me) and work in his garden. He taught me to shoot guns, fish, dress dove. All those things a daddy might teach a boy, if he'd had one. But Dad had me, my sister and married a woman with two daughters. Poor man!

Well, look here! I actually managed to write a little about him. Huh. Who knew? Maybe I was trying too hard. Anyway, thanks for reading and please feel free to comment and/or share.