Cancer Killed My Dad
How could I manage to forgive it?
First of, this will be very personal.
It will very likely also be quite emotional.
Like I said in my first post, I’ve been through a lot in a year.
I’m sure you did too.
It is September now, and I have already lost three people of my close entourage.
- Stan, my long time friend, colleague and crazy accomplice, to a bike accident.
- Maurice, my uncle, to a heart attack.
- Guy, my dad, to liver cancer.
Actually, I lost my dad to a heart attack as well while he was fighting for an extraordinary two years and a half his cancer.
But the cancer did 99% of the job.
Someone diagnosed to a lethal liver cancer has between three to six months to live.
My dad fought it one year.
He was just 64.
It took me five months and a phone call to understand his condition.
My dad was not someone who liked to get the attention he deserved.
He had hidden to everybody, and pretended he was good all year through.
The doctors on another hand, they were asking me how someone like him was still alive when all his organism was failing.
When I found my dad, I understood he had decided it was his moment.
He left strong, with dignity and loads of love.
I may add, now tears are filling up my eyes.
My dad was strong, and to him I ought to be half of the man he once was.
This is how I overcame my loss
1. I ought him the respect and the honor
If my dad could have gone through so much and kept his dignity.
How can I, me, struggle when I haven’t faced one third of his pain.
2. I cried
Many men will tell you they don’t cry.
Many men won’t cry.
I am not one of them. I cried when I understood it for the first time.
I cried when I felt like it.
I cried when I told him I loved him more than anything.
And I cried when he left. I am crying now.
Crying is an active part of grieving. It is necessary, it is healthy.
3. I know my dad lives
I don’t believe in after life. Or more precisely I haven’t been proven there is yet.
On another hand, I am sure a great deal of my genetic and personality comes from him.
Through me he lives.
4. I keep talking about him
Another way to make sure my dad is not gone is to talk about him.
I hear so much good about him. I’m proud and honored he did so much in so little time.
5. I talk to him sometimes
I am a master practitioner in NeuroLinguistic Programming. Through my schooling I learned how to deal with grief.
I’m learning how to forget.
Not to forget about him.
Not to forget about my loss.
But to forget about the emotional charge that goes with it.
Often, what people find the most difficult in a loss is the fact of in-accomplishment.
They wish they could say one last word.
Believe me, one word is never enough.
6. I live with it
My dad passed away in May.
His birthday was August 15th.
Well, I celebrated it. I went to see him. I talked to him. I bought him a gift.
I know he is gone. But it doesn’t mean I should forget.
This is how I realized, by visiting him.
Many remembered him and came too.
7. I had done what I could
When I received the call which told me my dad was “a dead man standing”, I was traveling in Israel.
I cried, I thought, and I came back to him.
I spent seven months living with him.
I took the responsibility to leave everything on hold in my life.
We laughed, we fought, we talked, we hugged.
We lived.
He lived, as if nothing was happening.
I told him I loved him as much as he could hear it.
8. I understood it is life
Do I really need to epilogue on this?
If you have lost someone. In anyway it is.
Remember they have lived.
And you are still alive yourself.
Make them proud.
I feel you. We all do.
Courage.
