As a senior in college, I went on a canoeing trip for spring break. It was on the Green River, in a fairly remote region. It was a 6 day trip, and after the first day or so, if we needed help, either someone would have to go to our destination, we would have to paddle upriver, or would have to hike up river along the banks. Knowing my dad and how he worried, particularly with my diabetes in mind, I neglected to tell him of my spring break trip. I was well prepared, and carried supplies that my trip-mates could help me in a large number of situations. I took all of the precautions I could, but I decided that it was a risk I wanted to take to go on the trip. It was a great trip, I'm glad I did it. My dad (and family in general) never found out about it until my husband was showing my dad pictures, and pulled out that album and to look at. My dad shook his head, but didn't say much (my dad finding out about the trip is chronologically after he had cancer).
A little over 5 years after my canoeing trip, my dad was diagnosed with a pretty deadly form of cancer. He made it through a surgery that bought him some extra time. A consequence of the surgery was he was then diabetic and needed to take insulin. What his goal was after the surgery was to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon again (he had done it once before, maybe a couple years earlier). Before he was even allowed to drive after the surgery, he was having my sister drive him to the Y so he could walk on the treadmill and exercise so he could take the trip. That winter he worked out all of the time with that goal in mind. Early that spring, he was visiting Jet and I (we were living in a different state at the time), and I asked when he was going to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. His jaw dropped. He asked me how I knew. I was slightly confused. He was leaving the next day for a routine "business trip" (this was the whole story everyone was getting, including my mom). My dad then elaborated about the details of his business trip. He was traveling for work, but before the work portion was to start, he was hiking down, spending the night at a camp at the bottom, then hiking back up to the top. Apparently, many people had been telling him that he either couldn't or shouldn't try. His oncology doctor and I were the only two people who supported him with this goal. He asked his endocrinologist how to adjust his insulin for the hike. She refused to give suggestions of how to do this because she didn't think he should do it. So he simply made the decision to not tell anyone before the trip. He was amazed I figured it out (I really didn't connect his business trip with the hike, but I was just asking how he was doing getting to his goal). Less than a week later, I received a post card from him. He sent it from the bottom of the canyon, and it started its trip being carried up by mule. Others got cards as well. Friendly ones to my mom and each of my siblings. A thank you one to his oncologist for supporting him, both on his cancer journey and believing that he could do the hike. And a postcard to his endo that simple read "Ha. Ha. I did it." My dad was so happy about the trip, and proud of the fact that he hike down and back up 6 months after his surgery. Jet was once again around when my dad was explaining the postcards he sent when my dad and I were talking about his trip. Jet dully observed that the apple doesn't fall from the tree (mainly in regards to the "Ha. Ha." card). 3 months after his trip, my dad passed away from the cancer.
It is now 6 years later, and the immediate sharpness of losing my dad has faded, but occasionally things happen when I'm least expecting it that remind me of him. Sometimes they take my breath away.
Last week, I was reading Post Secret. The last post card was from an oncology nurse. She sent in a post card from the Grand Canyon. A patient of hers that had cancer and her promised each other that whoever got the the Grand Canyon first would send a post card. The nurse made it there, but the patient had passed away, so she sent the post card to Post Secret. It took my breath away for a second. I was sad about missing my dad, and sad that this other person never got to see the Grand Canyon while walking this earth. I also thought about the "Ha. Ha." to the one doctor and the "Thank you" to the other. I thought about how deeply as health care professionals we can touch people, and how our patients can touch us. I dug out my postcard. I showed it to Obsidian. He said "Big hole." I told him that when he is older, we might go there (the closest I've been to the Grand Canyon is the confluence of the Green and Colorado Rivers). The tree to apple grown into a tree, to the next apple have to connect somehow.
Tonight on Facebook, I saw that friend posted that her mom who had terminal cancer was released from the hospital and that tomorrow she and her two children were going to fly to see her. 2 hours later she posted again, her mom had passed away. While my friend knew her mom had terminal cancer, she was hoping her mom would still be here in the spring when she is due with her 3rd child. I missed my dad some more, and wished he could have met my kids. My due date with Pyrope was exactly the 1 year anniversary of my dad passing away. One of my dad's last lucid thoughts was that he didn't want the day he died to always be a day to be sad and mope. I've tried to honor that, and when I found out my due date it took my breath away, but it seemed appropriate. I've been thinking tonight, maybe I'll try to hike down there with the boys when they are older on the anniversary (I would have to look into what the weather conditions are generally like that time of year). I've been thinking of the first days after my dad passed away and the sharpness, I would not have been able to take seeing the Post Secret card with the peace that I did in those early days. I've been thinking about the breath taking moments my friend will have. And I'm praying for God to carry my friend and her family closely right now.
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