It was with a heavy heart that I started my journey home from Georgia on Sunday. My Dad has been fighting cancer for over 2 years now. Every time I leave his home I am afraid that my visit may have been my last one.
He is so frail now. All treatments have failed and he seems to be just hanging on. Some days are good and give rise to hope that he will rise above this hateful disease. It is heartbreaking to watch. I want to be with him as much as I can, and at the same time I want to run away and pretend this is not happening.
There is no escape and he is constantly in my thoughts. When his number shows up on my phone my heart catches in my chest and it feels like someone is squeezing it. There is no good news anymore, just updates on the progress of his daily struggle. I am so sad.
My trip home was uneventful. I arrived home to find four little dogs and a cat that were ecstatic to see me. Oh, He Who loves me was happy as well.
He was cleaning the window on the store door when I pulled in. I entered my house to the strong ( very strong!) smell of Pinesol .......... and urine, dog pee, that is. He had mopped the entire house and yet ..... he did not move any furniture. I moved his recliner and found the source. He tries.
I found a load of laundry in the washer and was thankful that it had only been there since morning. He forgot it was there. I pulled out the wet load and found that he had washed everything he could find. There was no sorting involved, darks with lights and towels. Good thing I came home, no telling how long that load would have been in the washer. Two days home and things are almost back to normal.
As normal as it can be as I wait for that dreadful call.