My dad's cancer has been on my mind a lot lately. I find myself mulling over the eventual possibilities of its reality a lot. Wondering. Wishing. Making plans. Focusing on the good. Avoiding too much speculation. This is actually something of a breakthrough for me; in the five years since he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, I've spent a lot of time avoiding this mental subject. Last week when I suddenly found the words I needed to articulate what this experience has been like, I also found a measure of freedom.
I think that's why I write. Words bubble up inside of me and until I get them out in some way - on paper, on the blog, out loud - I can feel them hovering and buzzing. Not being able to vocalize something is terrifying for me. The nightmares I still remember from my childhood are the ones where I was scared but couldn't scream. An inability to communicate everything inside me...well, I would lose myself pretty quickly.
The more I think about this, the more I realize how true it is. Last summer I had something weighing on me until it became almost an obsession. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I finally broke and told my best friend everything, and almost instantly, I felt monumentally better. Strange as it sounds, articulating what cancer means to me has brought me relief, even though I am finally facing the pain of it. I have stopped thinking about it all the time. I think I was afraid of what would come out when I finally talked about it, and afraid I wouldn't be able to say the truth. I'm not afraid anymore. Well, less afraid.
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