There is no answer

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

I read a lot of things that people might call "self-help."  I look constantly for answers, for solutions, for the fix that I know must exist, I just haven't found it yet.  I want to fix it.  I am a "fixer".  "Restorative." I want to fix myself.  I want to fix my Dad.  I want to fix the world.  If I just do more, do better, work faster, be smarter, be nicer, give more... I know it is right *there*.  If only I could be... enough.

My Dad is dying.  He was dying yesterday, last week, a year ago, ten years ago.  He was dying the day that I came into this world.  Today his death feels imminent.  Today, we learned that his multiple myeloma has evolved into a much rarer and much more aggressive form.  There is, and will be, no "prognosis;" just things for them to try.  More, newer, and different drugs.  The cancer is so unusual that statistics do not exist.  In the end "statistics" are nothing more than a fallacy; a straw to clutch.  A delusion of control. 

I am afraid of losing him.  I am losing him.

Since my company is in the same town that he is, I am torn with conflict.  I could live in San Antonio and continue to be employed by my current employer.  I have more choices than I wish I did.  Choice is both a blessing and a burden.

Do I move in with him to care for him, to encourage him?  He seems to feed off me, to try harder, be more pliable, give more with my encouragement.  The second I withdraw the push, he reclines to the point of seeming to concede to death.  Do I give all of my energy to him, to try to bring his energy up?  In the end, would it make a difference?  Would he be happier as a result, or would he gradually begrudge my efforts, as he does others who are more near at hand (Han, his wife, and Julie, my sister)?  Could I survive the drain of giving, without a price of slowly turning into something terrible and bitter?  I have given my energy for his for just a few short weeks, and felt my soul dying in the process.

I want him to be as healthy and happy as he can be.  Should I be giving my young, relatively unattached life to what remains of his?  Would it be for a month?  Three months?  A year?  Three years?  Would my family, home in Virginia, survive the strain?  Would they support me, or become another thing that falls apart in the process?

There is no answer.  There is no "right choice" that will let me sleep at night at the end of this journey.

Let me hold, and uphold, each fragile day in grace.  Let me bring peace and love to my father, to my sister, and to myself.  Let me become a place of calm amidst this fearful, deadly storm called life.  If only I can do this.  Please.

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