One Word Changes So Much

Cancer.

The diagnosis is cancer. Sure, there are errors in these tests, and they want to run a bunch more. For now though, they are calling the tumor in the left chest cancerous. When I called today, I could sense immediately the tension in my dad's voice. He didn't want to even discuss it, but of course I pressed. After that word came out, that strangely damning two syllable statement, I did not ask the details. Then, as quickly as it began, the phone call was over.

Silence.

I did not have a father growing up. It took a lot of of my strength to have the relationship we developed in the past three years or so.

True to form, my father was flaky and unreliable. He would go months without calling me. I "tabled" our relationship at least twice, waiting him out to see if he would make the effort and contact me.

This last period of no contact lasted about three months. When my father finally contacted me a few weeks ago, that word was already in the air.

In February, I go to a place I've never been for what will surely be the defining moment of my adult life. My wife and I are going to see my father, for all intents and purposes a first meeting for all of us. There is the air of sadness, excitement, and now a confirmation of future trouble as the trip looms near. The meeting is "hello," and I fear this may be "goodbye" as well.

We don't have time to dwell on the difficult times between the last time I saw Dad (when I was 3) and now. I can only hope there is time to at least know this man who is now in my life and sick.