The neverending battle

No, I’m not about to reveal some heretofore unknown affliction – I’m just fine, thanks for asking.

I don’t think of myself as having been involved in a lot of cancer drama, but when I look back on my life, I see a different pattern.  My grandmother’s breast cancer, when I was still in grade school.  My dad’s battle with prostate cancer that became one of our main topics of conversation for half a decade.  The wildfire lung and liver cancer that took my granddad not too long ago.

And once again, I’m involved in that same long fight; once again, I’m on the sidelines – watching, cheering as much as I can, but ultimately more than a little helpless.  My dad is back in the crosshairs, this time for something operable that’s hopefully been caught early and is easily excised.


I’m starting to hate that word.

2 Replies to “The neverending battle”

  1. Hope is a “four-letter word.” I have tasted its bittersweet so much that it has left its dregs in my throat, but I never mind sharing it.

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