I’ve spent the last few days a little “self-involved”. My mind has wandered near and far and up and down the recesses of my memories. For a few weeks now, I’d been dreading November 18th (this past wednesday) as it would be the day I would surely find out my father has cancer. I knew the phone call was coming. I couldn’t take it. When I came down with the stomach flu in the wee hours of the morning on the 18th, I was sure it was a sign of one of the worst days I’ll have had in a long time.
I spent all morning in bed. All afternoon on the sofa. I didn’t want to lie down anymore. I logged on to the computer where Yahoo! informed me that today, November 18th, was Mickey Mouse’s 81st birthday. My heart sank deep into the empty pit of my stomach as I realized. I realized that today, November 18th, was the 17th anniversary of my grandfather’s death after a long battle with cancer. I clasped one hand to my mouth and the other to my heart and I begged and pleaded with God to let the date be a coincidence. My father and I have a rocky past. It’s the same story as many children of divorce. My parents divorced when I was younger than James is now. I was the only child. I never really got the chance to know my father, and as the years went on, sometimes I didn’t want to.
At one point in my teenage years, I learned he was divorcing the mother of my half-brother. It left me completely reeling. I was already on shaky ground myself and I couldn’t bear the thought of my half-brother being put through the same song and dance I had been. I did not speak to my father for over four years. The next time I would speak to him I would announce my engagement. I felt it was only fair. I’d made so many positive strides in my life and I’d become a strong and confident woman. I felt he deserved to know that. At this juncture, my relationship with my father is tepid. Maybe tepid is the wrong word for it. We don’t speak as often as most fathers and daughters, but we’re no michael and lindsay lohan. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel if he called and told me with a heavy heart that his test results were positive for cancer cells.
Clock watching serves very little purpose. It doesn’t make Time go by faster. Time will tick away at it’s regular pace and not give two hoots about you and your plans. Time takes no regard of your problems. I couldn’t wait. I called him 30 minutes after his scheduled appointment. “I’ll call you back.” Great. Now I’m mad at the clock for not ticking and the phone for not ringing. I’m even mad at his Dr. for not being prompt. My phone rings. Can I answer? Will I answer? I feel the lump building in my throat. I’m ready to cry. I’m a little surprised. I didn’t cry for days after I learned my grandmother died. I have to answer. I have to know.
I cried a little bit anyway. I cried for myself, I cried for my father, I cried for my grandfather, I cried for Anissa, I cried for everyone who didn’t get the same news.
Is this our second chance? Will we take advantage?
Time will tell.