Sunday, March 20th, 2016

I didn’t realize that people going through this didn’t just experience a firehose of sad all the time. Sometimes you actually forget. You have to get up to pee, or you get a message with a funny picture from someone who doesn’t know what’s going on. You have to find parking, or find food. You make jokes and spend time with family you haven’t seen in awhile.

The tragedy of all of this, that books and movies don’t capture, is that it is ultra-real. You live most of your time in-between all the scenes that they cut to in House, M.D. — all of the moments in the plot that advance the ball.

And when I catch myself not being sad, I feel guilty. Not that Tom would mind, but it feels like I owe him more abiding sorrow — a sorrow that doesn’t relent for pee breaks and Weekend at Bernie’s jokes. But you can’t live like that.

Or maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet. Maybe he’ll still wake up from the surgery.

This is a part of a series of essays which I began while my step-father Tom — a good man — was undergoing treatment for particularly aggressive brain cancer. He began experiencing acute symptoms on March 6th, 2016, and passed away nineteen days later.

His family and friends started a college scholarship fund in his memory. If you would like to donate, you can do so at tombroadheadscholarship.org.

Eric.