Week Four: Moments of Devastating Beauty
I sort of talked about this before. here
My father has pulmonary fibrosis, a disease of the lungs which causes the air sacs of his lungs to harden. Eventually, he won't be able to breathe at all. He was diagnosed two years ago. Worst case scenario: six years. Best case scenario: no one knows. Pulmonary fibrosis is one of those diseases that you never really know about: it progresses differently in every patient, so in actuality, my family is currently in the state of roller coaster: there are weeks when he is going to live forever, there are weeks when he is going to die tomorrow.
It is not an easy road.
Last year, my sister got married. I remember wrapping favors up and completely breaking down because there was the possibility I would never have my dad walk me down the aisle. I've never had a serious boyfriend, never even a hint of anything beyond mild flirtation. I'm not a traditional girl, but the thought of not walking down the aisle with my dad still brings tears to my eyes.
That is not the most devastatingly beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Watching him dance with my mum that evening nearly broke me. They have been married for thirty seven years, and while they aren't the most affectionate people in public, in those five minutes, it was obvious why they were still together. The way he held her hand, the way she leaned into his shoulder. There is a picture of my sister and I crying that pretty much sums it up. I'd post it, but it's almost too private.
This was not the most devastatingly beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Last year both of my sister's gave birth to two beautiful children. Seeing my dad hold them for the first time, their hands curled around one of his fingers, his face softening into the pile of goo I know he is. I have to admit I had to walk out of the room before I lost it. Every time he holds one of them, or talks to them in that annoying cootchie coo voice, a part of my heart breaks. Because who knows if they'll ever really know their Papa? But they make him smile, which is a rare thing some days. They make him happy.
But this is not the most devastatingly beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Every morning, my father gets up, makes breakfast, sharing with my dog, all the time complaining that Freckles is too much of a mooch. He loves that dog, no matter what he says.
There are days when he is miserable, days when he is okay. Occasionally there are days when he is great, but those seem further and further apart.
He has already begun to plan for his death, even though it may not be for years to come.
But somewhere inside me I still have hope.
Because he still loves that dog, even though the dog is annoying as hell. Because every time one of my nephews or my niece is around, he becomes that Dad I loved best. Even on the worst days he loves on them unconditionally. Because he tells my mum I love you and kisses her on the forehead. Because he hugs me every morning, the silent I am proud of you pouring through me. Because despite everything that is going on…
Every day he wakes up, and even though he doesn't do much every day, he wakes up and goes on with the day, even though he knows one day, he will not.
And that is the most devastatingly beautiful thing I will ever see.