I have been thinking about this post for some time. What to say? What to share? And my eyes fill up with water. Just as I am typing now.
Where does one begin. The above picture, my Dad and I took just a few hours before we headed to the hospital for my mastectomy on November 5, 2014. My very favorite place, Washington Park. I do not remember what we talked about. I honestly do not remember much of anything from the time I was diagnosed to my surgery. It was this strange blur of living with cancer, and waiting for my surgery.
Ever since I was in high school, my dad and I have this thing of going on long walks. When I am home in Kentucky we prefer to walk during the heat of a summer day. More recently we will drive to the park nearby my parents home and we will set off to walk for an hour or more. This has been our tradition for years. So the morning of my surgery it only seemed appropriate for us to go on a walk. The above picture remains one of my most treasured pictures. I remember that morning, the anticipation but more than anything I remember being at peace about the unknown future that was before me.
Growing up I was always told I looked just like my dad. I remember a time when we were at the grocery store together, I must have been six or seven I am not sure. But a woman made quite a scene announcing that “if any little girl looked just like her daddy it was me.” My big brown eyes next to my dad and I remember feeling so special. Good for me this has not changed a bit.
I do not know what the past year has been like for my dad watching me with breast cancer. But, I do know what it feels like to watch your dad watching you with breast cancer. What it feels like to watch your dad grieve. What it feels like to be loved by, cried for, worried over by someone so much. I am not sure if it was the time we were in the car. Sitting in the parking lot less than twenty four hours from my diagnosis, weeping. Or when I fell asleep next to him as he researched doctors. But never once did I doubt that I mattered. Never once did I feel abandoned. Not once was he not there. The day I was diagnosed my dad landed in Denver less than twelve hours later. And if you remember reading (if you have not then click here to read the full story), my dad surprised me and flew me to Guatemala to be at my best friends wedding that I was certain I would miss due to my surgery.
So on this very special Fathers Day, I would like to say Thank you. To my dad. For loving me so well. For crying over me. Praying over me. Worrying over me. It is an honor and a privilege to be your daughter. And thanks to you, I knew to be brave and to be strong.
I am your daughter after all 🙂
Love Your Bean Head.