Our young heroine returns. She is satiated by her day. Full to the brim, and curious about what tomorrow will bring. The morrow's dawn brings a day of promise. Tomorrow she leaves to fulfill her dreams. She is nervous that she will be lonely, but she knows that her old friend, the sea, will greet her fondly and with much emotion. She knows she will have time to process the pain she saw today, in ways she has not yet begun to imagine. While is satisfied by today's events, she knows the pain has not set in... from this point I no longer have the objectivity to pretend that I am not that heroine. So I must continue in the first person.
The doctor's appointment with my father was today. 90% chance he has chronic (as opposed to acute) Hep. C. Of that 90%- there is a 75% chance it is already cirrhosis of the liver. 20% chance it is cancer of liver. 5% chance it is asymptomatic. Chances are a new and long and winding and terrifying road stretches before me. I feel ready, only because I know that I cannot choose away from this road. My choice lies only in how I will walk it. My hope is that Christ will meet me this weekend, and show me how to walk it well.
In this life I have seen terrifying things, done terrifying things, been terrifying things. None of that prepared me for this day. It may seem to many that my father is rarely in control of a situation, but I would argue that he is seldom not in control. He makes his choices knowingly. He is not afraid of the life he lives. He is bold, proud, courageous, even as he makes choices we all consider stupid. Today, my father was more honest with me than he has ever been. Today, my father was terrified.
Never in my life have I seen him as I saw him today. Even when my four year old body lay bleeding on a table, my father was calm and collected. Even when his body lay bleeding in the street, drunk, and uncontrollable, he knew what he was doing. Today he looked death and sobriety in the face and his whole being shuddered. I have never seen a soul shudder. It is not normal. It is not easy. It is terrifying.
I know that my heart is broken and that I have not begun to feel it. This terrifies me. I want to dream to hope that this is nothing, that we will get the results back and find that this was all a false positive. A part of me knows that that is not true. A part of me knows this is the beginning of the end.
My biggest fear as a child was that my father would not be there to walk me down the aisle. Now I do not know that fear. Not only do I not know if I will even walk down the aisle, I also know that if I do, I will do so alone. Mardy Phillipian gave me that permission two years ago. I want it. I will not give myself away, but I will face marriage, walk up to it, as myself, and myself alone. But I am sad. I hate that it is death that brings me to people. Death which forces me to know them. Death which forces me to understand the depths (and shallows) of my love for them.
Tomorrow I will greet the ocean. Tomorrow I will feel my pain. Tomorrow I will find myself. Tomorrow I will rest. Tomorrow, but not today.