My dad is dying.

It was hard to type that. It’s hard to say it…or even think it.

But he is. And I’m not. And that’s weird. It feels weird to do dishes and curl my hair and do my homework while my dad is slowly wasting away.
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He has what we believe is a cancerous tumor in the very back of his mouth on his tongue. He’s refused treatment and is now under hospice care.

A little over a week ago my sister got a call saying he wouldn’t live through the weekend. His tumor had been bleeding and he was very weak. But it quit bleeding and by the time we arrived (less than 24 hours after getting “the call”) he was up and around, drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes like normal.

Like I said it feels weird to move on from those hours we thought would be our last with him.

We spent last Saturday evening and most of that Sunday just sitting outside together. We talked about his dog, the weather, his grandkids. He was willing to chat about anything, except what we needed to talk about the most.

He looked terrible. His complexion told the story of the blood he’d lost the day before. And it broke my heart.

I don’t really know my dad very well and I guess part of my heartbreak is that I never will.

And though it’s hard for me that life goes on…it does anyway. Time does not stop because I am in crisis. I cook for my family. I clean my house. I curl my hair. I try to do homework.

I remember that God is faithful and that He is my hope.

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