Not sure where I am

The wind is howling through our window hotel window. It's late, nearly 11 pm and both girls are still awake. We're still on our road trip. The girls have had a long day, I've had a long day. And I'm not sure where I am let alone know who I am.

Supposedly I'm in Lincoln, California, the fastest growing city in America. More likely a town soon to be victim of the economy. Huge growth, mega malls with no businesses, huge houses, with huge mortgages. A suburb of Sacramento. Flat, stucco, vast, new and not much old stuck together. A sign on the clay mill silo as you drive down highway 70, welcoming you to Lincoln, Calif. I keep thinking the oak trees are beautiful, but ask myself where are the rest of the trees – the cedars, the alders, the tall Douglas firs? It's green, light green fields ready for planting. But where is the richness of my home.

Yesterday, was hot, beautiful – California weather. Light blue, cloudless skies, still air, open spaces. We foraged to Tar–get in search of suburban treasures of flip flops and sun glasses. My mom picking us up in the big red dump truck as Emma calls their huge Ford truck. We venture back down the two lane highway to visit with my dad.

What is it like? I’m not sure I can say. This man, whom to me has always been larger than life, is now frail. He’s looks thin, he looks sad: he looks like my nightmares from last year. I see that he misses his friends, Thom, Linda…..other heroes from grammar school and older days gone by. I see the down turned mouth, my mouth from last year – a cancer mouth, the mouth that only tastes the metal taste of chemo. We sit, side by side silent in our own thoughts. Every once in a while, I ask….can I hold your hand and he lets me, if only for a moment. Minutes tick by and softly I ask, “Dad, what are you thinking about”. He responds, “I keep wondering why they won’t tell me how I am doing – whether I’m going to get well or not”. He goes on to tell me that the doctors gave him a 40% to 90% chance of survival. I remember back to my days and remember I only had a 50% of survival. They never told me that I would survive and I doubt they will ever tell him whether he will survive. But, he’s a crotchety old man…..he can survive, if he wants to.

And yet, here we sit in a leather recliner chairs, my dad and I. My dad, with his red warm, electric blanket, warming him on a windy day….me with a light comforter across my chest…..both of us complaining of the cold while my mother sweats from the warmth of the day. His complexion is grey, his life is dimmed, while my cheeks are pink and I feel full of sparkle.

It’s much later now. I lie in bed, the wind still blowing against the window. Is the man I first loved listening to the wind howl? We both have cancer, can we both survive. I have so many to help me along the way……he has so few. I wonder will he be there with me and will I be there for him.


I am so not ready to give up, let alone let him give up. Please survive…..at least for today…..and maybe tomorrow.