Mesothelioma Cancer: A Short Story

Sitting there, in that moment, I felt my heart pounding, palms sweating, pulse racing, cheeks scalding, and throat swelling. The room was spinning and crashing into a heap of tragedy that I was so unprepared to face, I would rather die than continue on knowing the inevitable was to approach in six months time. As my father held my hand, I was terrified to look him in the face as he was informing me of the horrible sickness that was consuming him from the inside out, but I forced myself to glance into his eyes. I have never seen my father cry; yet, at that moment, I saw a pool of tears in his already red, swollen eyes. My once invincible, strong, hero of a dad was now speaking with a trembling voice that I could do nothing to comfort. All the times he had wiped my tears and made my problems disappear when

I was a young girl was all I could remember. It was time for me to return the favor, but I was a useless anecdote.

He had mesothelioma cancer.

This type of cancer, I had later learned, was incurable and would take no longer than half a year to steal my father away. Over the months his health quickly began to deteriorate; the only thing I could do was watch in anguish and pray that God gave me the strength to push through the heartache and hopelessness that was overcoming me. The last few days I spent with my father were the hardest days of my life. He wasn’t the daddy that had raised me; instead, he could barely form a sentence correctly or even walk on his own. This was never the way he wanted to be remembered, yet these moments are the ones that stick with me and hurt me the most. I stuck by his side in his bed for two days straight. With my arms wrapped around him, I could feel his chest go up and down as I followed his breathing pattern; I wished in silence that it would never cease, but wishes don’t always come true. Being as a few hours later, with family gathered around, I whispered my last “goodbye” and “I love you” to the first man I had ever loved. He was gone. God had called him home and with him he took a piece of my heart that can never be fully

healed.

This moment changed my life forever. It taught me that life isn’t easy and that the events that occur will not always come when you’re prepared or ready. I still hurt and feel like there is a piece of happiness missing from me that I will never get back. That exact moment changed me, sometimes I feel for the worse, but it made me much stronger of a person. He’s in a place of sweet serenity, and I know he would be proud to see his “mija” accomplish all that he had ever hoped and dreamed for. Never will I be fully content without him here, but I will always and forever be grateful for the memories and lessons my father taught me because I will carry them with me for the rest of my life.