Tuesday, December 9, 2008

All the Whos Down in Whoville Liked Christmas A Lot

But the HALEY, who lived just north of Suffolk, DID NOT.

At church on Sunday, Preacher Bob (yes, that is his official name) gave a sermon about "Those who do not welcome Christmas." I think, perhaps, my father-in-law had called Preacher Bob ahead of time and tipped him off that I would be attending Main Street United Methodist that Sunday and he had better write a nice little sermon aimed directly at me. Or maybe the stress is making me even more paranoid than usual.

The point of the sermon (if I absorbed everything correctly) was to remind us that even if, for whatever reason--illness, finances, time constraints--we think Christmas sucks, we are wrong. We should embrace Christmas because it celebrates the birth of our Lord, and the thought of that blessing alone should be enough to put us in the holiday spirit.

Now, theoretically, that makes sense. Emotionally, not so much. (I would try to blame it all on the fact that I am not a Methodist and thus don't understand their beliefs, but since I'm technically Presbyterian and Methodists are pretty similar, I can't really get away with that excuse. I also considered that, according to the changes made in the calendar over hundreds of years, scholars claim that Christ was most likely actually born in what is now our October, which really screws with my head if I think about it. Jesus and Halloween just don't match up to me. But if true, that would mean that Christmas was, in fact, over in all ways but symbolically, and not in need of celebration. But, I digress.) Emotionally, Christmas makes me queasy this year. Trees and songs and wrapping paper and Gingerbread Lattes all make me want to vomit. Literally. I can't handle celebration while my Dad is so sick. It's hard to watch the kids be so excited, understanding that they don't "get it," but even so. It's painful.

I'm hoping next year, as sad as it may be, I'll feel less awful. But this year....well, this year, is like the line from "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas." We'll just have to muddle through somehow.

Monday, December 8, 2008

If I perfomed my own lobotomy, would it cure my Writer's Block?

One has to wonder.

One has to be temped.

Motherfucking cancer has made me sad enough to give me Writer's Block.

Motherfucking cancer.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Motherfucking cancer

I've worked hard now for nearly six months to keep the cancer out of my blog. It's much more fun to write when you're writing about funny, silly things. Every now and then I wander a little too far over to the serious side, but for the most part, the stuff I write about is brain candy. Just for fun. But now I can't get away from the motherfucking cancer.

We've had cancer galore in the family. My Grandpa and Grandma, great aunts and uncles, then my Mom and sister-in-law. Some of them made it through, some of them didn't. Luckily, Mom and Shawna were two of the ones that are still with us. Now, it's Dad's turn.

My parents are young--they married young, at 19 and 17. They've been married for 35 years; Mom is 53, Dad is 55. Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at 47. Dad was diagnosed with head and neck cancer in June. We were told from the beginning with Mom that she probably wouldn't survive. She did. She's 5 years cancer free. We were told in the beginning that Dad's was beatable. (At least, this is the impression my parents were under. My information was all secondhand from them.) Two rounds of chemo and a long bout with radiation later, we find that apparently it's not. It's also not surgically treatable. There's not much else we can do.

I've gone through some pretty difficult things in my life. I've never felt anything like this. I hate to see suffering and pain in anyone, but it's particularly hard in someone that I love as much as I love my Dad. I'm so far away--602 miles, to be precise. I miss him so much already, just living 10 hours away. What will I do when not even 10 hours and 602 miles will get me to him when I need him?