10 Things I Fear – Fierce Hope
I’ve been told how open and brave this blog is. In the interest of national colon cancer awareness day, I wanted to share the deep fears I’ve had since finding out I have end-stage cancer.
- Above all, I fear not seeing my children grow up. If my terminal diagnosis has taught me anything, it is to enjoy each moment. But those moments aren’t enough. Last night I saw a young girl talking about visiting college campuses with her dad and it really hit me. The shear volume of those moments that I will miss is astounding.
- I fear leaving Amy alone. My wife and I have a love that has lasted 17 years of ups and downs. I shudder at the idea of her being without me.
- I fear pain. When I was in the hospital with pneumonia when I got my diagnosis, I endured some of the worst pain and moments of my life. I had a terrible time with being intubated. It was like a long and inescapable nightmare that stretched into infinity.
- I fear that my children will forget me. Our twins, Hannah and Alison are 6 years old. I don’t remember anything from that age. Enough said.
- I fear heaven. That may sound odd, but no perfect place can exist that separates me from my family. I find the entire idea very unsatisfying. I don’t want to be hanging out on clouds with a bunch of angels. I want to be with my family in a real and living way. Not “with” them in just a spiritual sense.
- I fear I will give up. I’ve been congratulated many times for my strength, but few know how much I want to give up. The chemo makes me miserable and the idea of dumping it is attractive. The only thing stopping me is it seems to be working. If I thought for a moment it wasn’t, I’d be done.
- I fear missing the future. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and think about future events. The prospect of missing the “unknown” means I could pass away a few years before they cure my cancer. It’s a terrifying prospect.
- I fear hospice. This may have been a bad idea, but I spent several weeks after my diagnosis reading about what happens to the body as cancer of the organs shuts it down. It was grim and clinical and I don’t look forward to experiencing it at 42.
- I fear I won’t finish my projects. I’ve been writing a book. It’s hard to focus on these meds, but I keep pushing.
- Lastly, I fear the silence that will take the place of my life. A deep still silence around everything that I am. Everything that I’ve done. Everything that I own. Just the stillness of non-existence.
PS: Special thanks to all of you who have been sharing my latest posts on Facebook and twitter. It’s really helped this blog reach a massive readership. (almost 2000 subscribers in just a few months).
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