|Dad and me before his surgery|
mom from seeing. I'm an academic like my dad. I wanted the facts. I wanted the statistics and the possible outcomes on either side of the curve. I wrote them all down. Martin was standing right next to me and I vaguely remember asking him for clarification on some medical terminology and mostly I remember being numb. After hanging up with the surgeon, we went in to the chapel in the waiting room. Dr. Sorensen
|Mom and dad|
So much has changed in a year. Dad has gone from a vibrant, funny, happy person to someone much different. He is quiet, and almost contemplative. It's difficult to get him to smile at things that he used to, and he is rarely spontaneous and lively. Dad struggles every day. It's so shocking to watch and you realize how much you take for grated. Life. Your own daily existence. Dad struggles with staying awake, alert, mobility, independence, appetite... Some days he welcomes death, and others he smiles at the kind gestures of those that visit, play music, read the bible, have normal conversations. Dad isn't afraid of dying, he knows where he will go. I think he worries most about leaving us. For us, or at least me, it is hard to hold the two realities of mourning the loss of someone and having them physically in front you.
|Annabelle loves cuddling with her Opa|
|Dad loves going to Erling Jensen's|
So right now, we are working on small goals and taking each day as it is. Dad is no longer doing any chemo, Avastin, or the Optune Cap.
We also had a great group of carolers that came to sing for dad the other day. He was so happy to hear and see them.
Thank you again to all of our family, and friends. We would not be where weare without your constant prayer and support.