The Thing Is...

You train yourself to hope. You make yourself push away fear and despair. Every time you start to feel yourself going there, you tell yourself things.

"He's fine. He'll be fine. You're not going to lose him for a long time yet. You're over-reacting. It's fine. It'll be fine."

Over and over and over you push down the terror and you grab onto hope and belief with everything in you. And then he's gone.

And you're left standing there, shocked. Disbelieving. Suddenly without any hope that he's going to make it... That you aren't going to lose your dad to cancer. And all those years of training are still screaming at you, and you find yourself unable to accept that this really happened. You're so used to grabbing onto hope, to fighting, that even though there's nothing left to fight for you feel anxious because you're not. Like you're missing something. You've forgotten something. There must be something you have to do. To fix it.

And obviously. There is hope. There is belief. There is life.

But you aren't trained for this. You have to teach yourself all over again.

"He's gone. It's not okay, but someday it will be. He's happy and he wants you to be happy again."

I'm sure there's more. I know there are other things that I need to be telling myself, but I don't feel ready to hear them yet. I'm already struggling just to be able to tell myself that he's gone. That this really happened. Replacing the things I used to tell myself just to make it through... With new things. So I can make it through.


  1. Oh Becky! I have no words. I cannot even begin to fathom what you are going through. I know the loss that I feel, and I know that compared to yours it is almost nonexistent. I love you! Hugs and prayers!

  2. How am I supposed to comment when you always leave me speechless?

  3. I love you Becky. Big hugs, bug hugs to you....


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