I wrote this on Tuesday:
Today I found out that my Dad has cancer. The person who taught me how to lay down the perfect bunt and how to truly love football. He's sick. Really sick. At 33 years old I knew my parents would not live forever. But I knew in my heart I had tons of time left. SO many birthdays, holidays, trips, vacations to the beach and on and on. I knew my Dad and I would be going to Cherokee football games for another twenty years. People would laugh at the fact that we had been going for SO LONG. I know that we probably still will but I am scared.
My Dad has lymphoma. It is a type of cancer that effect the blood and the lymphatic system. He has been sick for a couple of months and there has been no cause. They diagnosed him with diabetes so we all pointed our finger there. We had no idea that something as big as cancer had been overlooked for so long. It had gotten to the point that he couldn't get out of bed. I knew something was wrong. But I had no idea.
We don't know how bad it is. We don't know what kind of lymphoma it is. We don't know what the treatment or prognosis will be. Hopefully that will come in the next few days. I just know that he's my Dad and I am scared as hell. Suddenly I feel like a ten year old little girl who got told she might lose her Daddy. I want to climb in bed and have someone take care of me. That's not an option. Too many people are depending on me.
It will be fine. He will be fine. It will be fine.