I went with my dad to the oncologist today. Oncology is such an ugly word. I've never liked it. It gave me the shivers just to walk into the waiting room, almost like I was walking into a morgue. Maybe because that's how I feel.
My dad's cancer situation has gone from bad to worst. At 82 many people would say he's had a good life and no one lives forever, but many people don't know my dad.
Only six years ago my dad quit jogging when he moved to a location where it wasn't so easy to do. But up until last year, he continued to walk daily, do 50 sit-ups, push-ups, painting, car tune-ups, etc. He only wears glasses when he reads, has only one or two fillings, and his mind is as sharp as a tack.
But his body is failing him.
His mind is active and inquisitive. He loves to learn and interact with people and challenge himself. He notices everything!
But his body is giving out.
Today, when the oncologist gave his recommendations, I saw that fire in my dad's eyes once again and I thought, "But, he still wants to live!"
And then I carried Dad's belongings, just as he used to carry mine, and watched as he shuffled out the office door.