I miss my dad. Every day, multiple times per day, I have an overwhelming feeling of loss come over me. For just a minute it takes my breath. I still have visuals of watching how he suffered the last few weeks of his life. I still hear him crying over Mom and my brother Kevin’s deaths. I'm just recently starting to sleep again without listening for him to holler for me from his room. I wouldn’t bring him back to this crazy place in that little tattered body if I could, because I know without a doubt where he is-at the feet of Jesus Himself. Still, there’s a void that’s left in my heart for as long as I'm here.
When Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October, 2017, I knew my time left with him was short. I had already spent 10 months taking him to doctor appointments, scans, blood work and tests, all in an attempt to explain his unusual symptoms. During those months, we made it a habit to go to Golden Corral, Cracker Barrel, Shoney’s breakfast bar or IHOP. By the time he was diagnosed, he was hardly eating anything at all. He lost over 70 pounds. Going to these places was about the only time he ate well.
For the most part, I have always been, like my dad, naturally thin. With the exception of having to lose pregnancy weight, I have never had to diet. Fortunately, most of the foods I like to eat are fairly healthy. I typically eat like I’m dieting anyway! I don’t like dipped, battered, fried things, I don’t eat butter on anything (except homemade bread!). I only eat grilled chicken and turkey, as far as meats go. I love vegetables and salad, and I only like veggies on salad (no croutons or bacon bits for me), and I barely use a drop or two of dressing...the vinegar-based types. I don’t like the thick, creamy kinds. My big vice, however, is that I chase every bite of food with a swig (which sounds a little better than a gulp) of sweet tea. Anyone who knows me well knows I love sweet tea...to the tune of around a gallon every other day! My other big problem is bread and sweets. Cookies, cakes, pastries, donuts..basically anything that starts with sugar and ends with white flour.
I like to say my sugar and carbs addiction is Dad’s fault. He kept us well stocked with desserts when we were growing up. The last thing he cooked for me was one of his famous baked rice puddings just a few months ago. His mother, my Granny, got me hooked on sweet tea when I was too small to lift the huge glass pickle jar she kept it in. She was also a sweet eater. She would always say after dinner she liked a little sweetenin'! I always looked forward to peeking under her aluminum cake box in the kitchen to see what kind of cake she had made, hoping it was strawberry cake with strawberry icing. My sweet tooth is almost as old as I am!
I knew when I was eating gravy and biscuits at Cracker Barrel one morning and the lunch buffet at Golden Corral the next that it probably was going to catch up to me. I could feel that my clothes were getting tighter and I felt yuckier than I ever had felt before. Still, if I hadn’t gone with Dad to eat, he wouldn’t have eaten either, so I went. We went about twice a week, sometimes more. These breakfast and lunch dates took the place of my daily mile and a half walks and trips to the gym. I was acutely aware, though, that it was a trade I would never regret in the long run. We had many precious conversations, lots of funny observations and comments and really a sort of therapy as we talked about years gone by. I would not trade one single second of that time for all the skinniness in the world!
So, now Dad is gone and I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been. I gained about 15 pounds over the last couple of years, and I feel every pound of it! I developed high blood pressure during all the loss of Kevin, Mom and Dad in a 3 month span. I have struggled with my own version of depression: feeling like my best years are over, lacking motivation and energy, wanting to sleep all the time, feeling like I’m old, fearful of cancer, fearful of heart disease and diabetes. I’m not sitting around sad and crying, I just know all those feelings are a direct result of the hurricane I’ve been through in the last few months. I’m fully aware in my head that none of these “lies” are true, and I know without a doubt that God is in control of it all, yet my heart still feels them. There’s no fix for my loss. I have to feel it, no matter how painful it may be, and this is how I’m feeling it, and the extra weight is adding physical stress to my emotional anguish.
About 2 months before Dad died, he said,
"Don't give up on me! I'm coming back!" He gave it everything he had. He was so strong, even in such sickness and despair.
So last week I got to thinking about Dad and how terribly sick he became near the end. He was beyond pitiful. Yet still, he wanted so badly to live. He wanted to “come back”, as he put it. He tried so, so hard, too. He never gave up. Just two weeks before his death he said he was going to start walking with me in the springtime. He wanted to go back home to Appalachia again. He wanted to go to Golden Corral again! He just wanted to be able to eat again, and to feel like laughing again. He just wanted so desperately to live.
I kept hearing the echoes of Dad saying, “I can’t quit. I don’t know how to not fight. I have to keep going or I’ll lose my abilities.” I know he was right. I believe he lived longer because of his strong will and desire to overcome. So, my battle (fortunately) isn’t one with cancer, it’s one with pulling it back in the road and taking care of myself again. It’s about changing the monologue in my head. It’s about being productive again and pushing myself to get up and go walk, even if I would rather sleep in. It’s about choosing healthy things to eat instead of what’s convenient or what I like the best, and drinking a sweet tea here and there instead of half a gallon a day. It’s about trusting God to help me when I feel weak. It’s about choices, and making the right ones. It's about honoring God, and caring about how I treat my body and the health He has blessed me with. It’s also about honoring my dad, and living my best life, the one he would be living if he were only my age again and in as good of health as I am fortunate enough to be in. It’s about living while I’m alive.
I’m doing it, Dad. I can’t quit. I have to fight to be healthy and fit. I have to keep going so I don’t lose my ability to live well. I’m your girl, and I will never forget the example you set to keep on keeping on, no matter what life throws at you. I hope my kids will one day look at me and say, “She never, ever gave up.” And I hope one day they’ll want to take me to Golden Corral. 😋
We built this little box for Dad to fill in an empty space after he fell between his toilet and bathtub several times. I wanted him to see this verse every time he lifted the lid. I hope he remembered it every time he felt discouraged.
