I cried today on the way to work.
I mean, it wasn’t uncontrollable bawling, but tears were shed. Trigger? Harry Chapin’s Cats and the Cradle. I cannot point to any specific lyric, but the whole idea of the life cycle and father/son relationship in the song got me a bit misty. And of course, then I started thinking about other life cycle songs that I used to play around campfires in Illinois, Wisconsin, and Israel: Joni Mitchell’s Circle Game and Cat Steven’s Father and Son immediately came to mind too.
As most of you know, I have three sons - all at very different stages of their life cycle. And all I have been able to think about the past 3+ weeks is that there is still so much of their life cycles that I want to share. I mean, with the oldest, cartwheels are just turning to car wheels. The middle will still play catch (or kick soccer balls) with me, and the youngest is just learning to read. There’s still so much we have to go through.
And I think that that is why telling the kids about my cancer and surgery was one of the hardest things I think I have ever had to do in life. First of all, the week between my diagnosis and meeting with the oncologist to learn more details was brutal. At that time, all we knew was that the cancer could have been anywhere from stage 2-4. I had nightmares and daymares about watching the “last” soccer game or the “last” White Sox game or the “last” Shema before bed. I did my best to be optimistic, but inside there was still that nagging, “What if this is the end?”
So even though we eventually found out that the worst was unlikely and there is a lot of reason for optimism, it was still tough to sit down and actually tell the older boys. I mean, as parents we have one job: Protect and Nurture. My ability to do that was now in jeopardy. I knew that for them, hearing the words was going to be painful and I could not protect them from that. I will never forget the look in their eyes as I had to tell them the news. Even with the fact that the outlook was promising, I could still see their pain and sense the hurt. It is awful to see your kids hurt and cry - and even worse when you are the cause.
For his part, the little one is the luckiest of all. He has no idea what is going on and would not understand it even if we did tell him. At some point, he will know that dad is sick, but he will not understand until he is older. At that point, it will either be moot because I am still around...or it will be something else that I’m doing my best to not think about at this time.
In 72 hours, they are going to fillet me like a fish. At that point, anything can happen. Yesterday, I struggled to keep the panic attacks at bay. I am scared. I know the surgery is necessary and I want it to happen, but I don’t because I’m scared.
Today, the anxiety has been better, except I cannot stop thinking about the Cat’s and the Cradle and the Circle Game. I cannot stop thinking about the “what ifs” and how unfair it is that there’s a chance that I miss so much of the life cycle events in my sons’ lives...and miss so much time with my amazing wife. We still have so much to do, so much life to live, so much love to give. And so I fight...even with the fear and the misty eyes.
Please get your screenings.
Please say your prayers.
I hope that I’ll be here for so much more of my sons’ lives “before the last revolving year is through.”
#GratefulFighters
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