A while back, I was on a long car trip. My son was in the back, happily watching Dora on his dvd player. And I was bawling my eyes out listening to a This American Life podcast about a child who was watching his father slip away to an incurable disease. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it’s because I lost my own father. But the tears just poured down my face.
True, I wasn’t 6 when my father died, like the boy in the story. I was 26. But the emotions resonated and the story struck home. It was an interesting juxtaposition, driving in the car, thinking of my father, and at the same time thinking of my own son in the backseat and how I hoped he’d never have to experience the pain and confusion of losing a parent at a young age.
Losing a parent stinks, whether you’re 6, 26, or 56. I lost my father, 2 weeks before my wedding, to a disease he beat. That’s one of the most difficult parts of the story. In august, 2002, he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. The prognosis was good. He underwent radiation and a couple treatments of chemo, and began his recovery. And then he got sick. My father was old. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him, but he was 72. And his immune system gave up. He ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, first bacterial, then viral, and days before his 73rd birthday, his lungs were filling with blood and there was nothing left to do but let him go.
I can honestly say that was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. But harder still is knowing that my son, named for my father, will never know his grandfather, beyond pictures and stories. And there’s not much I can do about it. I’m sad. I cry. I do what I can to tell Noah about his grandfather. And we walk.
We walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Light the Night walk. This will be our 3rd year. We walk with other families touched by Leukemia, Lymphoma, and Myeloma. We walk with survivors. We walk with supporters. And it’s beautiful. It’s painful too. But it’s nice to have something special to share with my son, my father’s namesake, and it’s nice knowing we’re helping to make a difference.
It really is beautiful. At Light the Night, everyone carries lighted balloons. Most people carry red, and cancer survivors carry white. And you walk at dusk. Hundreds of illuminated balloons, in our case reflected on the lake. Last year, our local Walk raised $150,000 and the state chapter raised over $700,000! The money goes toward curing blood cancers, and improving the quality of life for patients and families.
One day, hopefully, my son will realize that Light the Night is more than a fun walk with a balloon. One day he’ll realize how much money we’ve raised (over $2300 in 2 years), and what good it’s done. He’ll learn a little more about his grandfather, and what a wonderful man he was. And even if it is just a fun walk with a balloon, well, that’s not so bad either.
Emschwar
My dad is currently undergoing treatment for multiple myeloma. Hugs to you. This post expresses my biggest fears about my dad…that he will die and that my boys won’t know their grandfather. It breaks my heart already. My dad isn’t as old as yours was, but not far off either…he’s 65. I fear every cold he gets.