Late December 2010 my dad called me from Idaho to tell me that the colon cancer had returned and this time it was inoperable. Shock and horror. My body began to tingle starting at the top of my head as my entire being attempted to reject the words. The words seemed to float down a long, dark tunnel, barely making it into my ear. So simple. So matter of fact. So devastating.
Trying to sleep that night was ridiculous. My heart pounded. I kept doing that startled awake thing each time my mind screamed, "My dad is gonna die!" This is the biggest tragedy of my life so far. And I am no stranger to adversity. My dad is one of the last real cowboys. He is recluse and independent. He is kind, generous, hilarious. He is also stubborn, crotchety, and a bad ass. I remember as a little kid watching how he did things, simple things, like walking, talking and smoking. I would try to mimic his every move. He was the epitome of cool. I've never looked at my dad without thinking he could absolutely kick anyone's ass. Until now. He has lost about 50 lbs since December. Nothing tastes good and we ('we', hilarious!) he hasn't even started chemo.
Dad starts chemo tomorrow.
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