This is a deeply personal post. Bear with me.
I once heard Lady Gaga's piano performance of The Edge of Glory on Howard Stern and it touched me. I understood at that moment what it meant for her and found so much love and understanding in it. The title is an apt description of being on the edge of life and death, being at that moment when you leave this world and go to the next...
I went about my life as any 20-something girl did, worrying about career, about love, about being 20-something. I was never a frivolous person. I was and still am deeply inquisitive and introspective - I think. I was loving my job and my career, I was living in one of the world's best cities, and I was in love with a man who was (and is still) everything I hoped for in a life partner.
I loved my family and my family loved me. I am a family person. I am also "daddy's little girl". I had career aspirations and dreams of marrying the man I loved with my family by my side.
When my dad was diagnosed with Cancer (big C), I was devastated, to say the least. Like any little girl, I put my dad up on a pedestal. He probably has something to do with why I took my time to wait for the man that I would share my life with. When your family loves you the way mine does, you wait to find a love that honours that.
I was heartbroken at the thought of what my dad had to go through and the possibility that our time with him could be severely limited. Here was the kindest man I'd ever known, the most loving husband, father and friend who would do anything for the people he loved. It's always the good ones, I thought.
My sister and I quickly flew home to be with our mom and dad to help him through all the doctor visits, treatments, decisions and uncertainty. After a few doctor visits, we both knew what we needed to do. We moved home. Just in time for my dad's chemo treatments. It seemed the first rounds of radiation didn't help. There was no doubt that we would go through this journey with him. And our family, true to form, gathered together for every treatment, every doctor visit, every moment. One of the nurses told us how nice it was that we were there as a family for everything, that it was rare. I thought, there was no question that we would be here. Where else would we be?
Looking back I doubt if my dad really wanted to undergo chemo, but we wanted it. My mom, my sister and I. It wasn't that we wanted chemo for him. We just wanted to fight. We wanted to fight to keep him. It's not till later that I realized it wasn't so much us who were getting beat up, it was him. I'll hopefully never know what chemo felt like to him. But I'm sure it was no less the hardest thing he's had to do - no the second hardest thing. The hardest thing for him, and I have no doubt, was having to go and leave us on this earth.
I won't go through all the details of that year with my dad as he fought cancer - and he fought it the only way I knew he would, bravely. But it remains one of the hardest, darkest yet the most loving and fulfilling year of our family's life. Both my sister and I got married that year, within 2 weeks of each other. And two weeks after I got married, my parents celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary. My sister and I had found the men we wanted to marry by that point and there was no doubt in our minds that BOTH my mom and my dad had to be there. We had beautiful weddings, surrounded by the most important people who love us and my mom AND dad walked us down the aisle. That's what daddy's girls dream of. I'm so happy we have that.
Watching someone you love pass on changes you. In ways that I don't even fully know, but I know I've changed. My dad's wishes when we were about to embark on this journey with him included 1. He didn't want to lose his hair, and 2. If he had to go, he wanted to go at home surrounded by his family - no one else. I'm glad he got those two wishes. He never lost his hair, he looked handsome til the end. And when it was time to go, his girls (my mom, my sister and me) were with him.