12.13.14

by mereintention

Over a year since I’ve posted. What a shit storm it’s been. For the most part it’s just because of too many other things going on. Well, that’s not true; it’s been because of my job. I hate admitting that. But I’m writing now, so, there…right?

Titus turned ten this week. It was his golden birthday. Today was his party, which involved taking him and his two best friends and about $25 worth of quarters at PinBall Jones, a fantastic pinball arcade in Old Town. He asked me to make lasagna for dinner, so when we came home from the arcade the kids played outside and I got everything put together and into the oven. After dinner we watched Home Alone. One friend went home, as we don’t do mixed gender sleepovers, and now the boys (including Philip) are playing video games. Soon they will crash in sleeping bags in the basement and wake up earlier than they should. My last post was  the day after his birthday last year. That writing healed of parts of me. This year was not traumatic or stressful or emotional…maybe because I have nothing available in those departments right now.

My dad has brain cancer. He will start radiation and chemo this week. He had brain surgery almost four weeks ago.  He lives in Oklahoma. My step-mom is amazing. The cancer is terminal. Saying this to my kids has been the hardest. This is their grandpa who visits for days on end, multiple times a year.  Glioblastoma/GBM/lifefuck.

I’m laying here on the couch under a quilt that my grandma made and gave to me over Thanksgiving when we were back in Oklahoma to visit Dad. I’d stayed with her and Grandpa the week prior when I made the flash drive down to be there for Dad’s surgery. It was amazing and life giving to stay with them. We stayed up late ever night drinking wine and just talking and sharing stories. How lucky am I?

The neurosurgeon removed about 50% of the mass. Radiation and chemo will slow down the growth . That’s all we/he get(s). But, because the neurosurgeon wasn’t crazy aggressive on something that can’t be cured/killed/fully-resected/removed, my dad woke up able to talk and do everything he could do before he had the craniotomy. Everything was the same. Brain surgery. This is not what I expected to happen. What a gift.

What a gift to have a brain surgeon who didn’t try to be Superman. Didn’t go for a statistic of resection percentage, but steal my dad without notice, as the cost of the badge.

I don’t know how long we’re going to have with Dad.  That’s okay.

It’s okay.

Okay.

 I’m naming this bitch Ker. As in the Greek mythological spirit of cruel death and ravaging disease.

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