clumsyelf1: (Default)
I have come to the conclusion that I am an emotional masochist. Right now I am reading a Castle fanfiction that... is a little too close to home.In this fanfiction Castle has been married to Beckett for three years when they find out he's got cancer, starting in his neck. The story is about how they handle the disease as a family. It's just that when I read it I can't help but cry. It make's me think of my dad and his own struggle with and eventually death from cancer. I remember feeling like my world was falling out from under me. I remember the pain and the anguish. I remember going with him to the hospital for his treatments and scans. I remember what those treatments did to him. My dad used to be a big, robust man, full of life. But as time went on he withered away before our eyes. He got skinnier and skinnier, and weaker and weaker. He couldn't eat because either his mouth and throat hurt to much or he couldn't keep it down. Or he just had no appetite, like at the end. At the end I couldn't hardly recognize him. He was so thin, so weak. He couldn't talk, he couldn't hardly move. He just didn't seem like my dad anymore. It's like he died long before he was actually dead. And when I read this story, I mean, well, not all of it is the same, some of it is. The fears, the uncertainty, the cheap coffee, the hospital food. I read this story and I just... I remember. I don't know why I keep reading, I shouldn't, I should stop, but I don't. I keep reading and I cry from the memories it induces. Like I said I'm an emotional masochist.
clumsyelf1: (Default)
Hi.
About two weeks ago my dad passed away after a two year+ battle with cancer. That last night I saw him was our birthday, the night before he died. (And hell, I just broke down while writing this. Had to take like a five minute brake.) He was so weak, he didn't seem like him self at all. I could hardly recognize him. He couldn't move hardly at all, couldn't talk, couldn't even write. Every thing he wrote just looked like chicken scratch. Even then with how weak he was I still held hope that he would make it out of it alive. I told him when I walked into his room that night "Your fifty nine! And your gonna make it to sixty!" Well I was wrong, he barely made it to the next morning. What has kept me going this past week or so was the video I have been making for his memorial. And this entire time I have kept thinking what is wrong with me, cause the only time I had really cried, besides just now, was right after I was told. Even then it wasn't long and then I was finding ways to laugh. I have been bottling it up the entire time. I guess I really needed this, some therapeutic writing to get it all out. My god!! I miss him so much!!!! I want my dad back!! I can't stop crying.
I feel like Drew from Elizabethtown, it took me about the same amount of time to start crying. And it was also during the preparation of my Dad's Memorial. My Dad was also cremated just like Drew's Dad was.

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Sarah

January 2017

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