Squinting
June 22, 2015
“My heart broke. My stomach turned.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Josiah was squinting. ”
Sun, fun and family. Spending a few days at the beach was a welcome break from the bleak reality of the recent past. I could hear the cousins laughing instead of some gawking infomercial in the radiology waiting room. I could feel the summer breeze kicking up some sand rather than stale air blowing at the back of my neck in a doctor’s examining room. My eyes were always on my boy and he had an extra hop in his crooked steps.
The future was unknown but my faith was strong. I believed Josiah would not have any more treatments. I expected a miracle. The doctors said that radiation therapy was the only action that brought a successful outcome. So we knew we had months of his best life with the fewest symptoms ahead.
We seized the moment and were living it up. He was dreaming of where to go for his Make a Wish trip. He was leaning towards the beach on some distant island.
After lunch, we were cleaning up the kitchen. The kids were relaxing inside during the heat of the day. I am certain they were watching the Teen Titans on the Cartoon Network. I glanced over at Josiah as I usually tried to steal as many looks at him as I could throughout the day.
My heart broke. My stomach turned. Tears welled up in my eyes. Josiah was squinting.
I gathered myself.
“Hey bud.” I casually, cautiously asked, “Are you seeing a little double vision?”
“Yeah Dad. But it’s not bad.”
“Cool. Love you.”
I finished wiping down the table, put the sponge in the sink, and walked straight outside the house down the stairs.
Previously the radiation had caused the tumor to shrink which gave him normal vision. Squinting meant that the tumor had already begun to grow. The treatment that gave everyone a break from the terror of a brain tumor had ceased to work.
I broke down. Sobbing every step down the asphalt road. I had to get away from everyone. I didn’t want to explain what I saw, what I knew. I didn’t want to ruin this time of celebration and relaxation. But I knew our timeline was crushed.
I was crushed. I felt like someone was squeezing my chest and pulling out my guts. Didn’t he deserve at least a break?
Guess not.
But I know he did not “deserve” a brain cancer. He did not “deserve” his young life being threatened. He did nothing to “deserve” losing the joys of biking, running, and swimming.
Cancer was our reality. Life had changed. I felt helpless to protect, guide and love my boy just like the moment I saw him stumbling around my living room on April 19th. What good was I to him?
I let the tears flow. I released my crushed heart to roar against this hidden parasite. In my rage, I began to pray.
I walked all the way down to the bay side of Duck. The waters gently lapped on the rocks. The breeze still played with the long grasses beside the road.
I soaked it all in. I caught my breath and stayed there awhile. Then I turned around and walked back up the hill. I prayed for my own strength to lead my family through whatever was coming. I prayed for the utter annihilation of the tumor.
Dry eyed, beaten down yet still standing I walked back into the beach house to be the best dad to my three children I could be.
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