Recently, my company had it's annual meeting in New Orleans. During one of our meetings of that week, we were prompted to think about crucible moments in our lives that have helped define and shape who we are today. And who we might become later in life. In searching my personal history for my crucibles, I found two overwhelming themes (if you will): emotional detachment and strength. Both of these characteristics simultaneously coincide with the worst moments in my life. To avoid being too depressing, I'll share only one. The one that means the most to me, in a sense that it has had the biggest impact in my life...
Within my immediate family, it seems like I always have to be the strong one. Carrying the others on my back. Being the pillar of logic and protection. The time I had to perform these duties at my best and without fail was three years ago. My dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. And not just "hey, I'm a little sick" cancer. It was "stage 4, my only shot is radiation and I only have one shot - if it fails, that's it" cancer. It was the worst thing I've ever had uttered to me and I'll never forget it.
At the time, I was working for my mom at her mortgage company. I remember coming back from lunch with my sister on that particular day. If you've ever believed in unseen forces, this particular day was the most precise and relevant example of it. I hadn't been through the office doors more than 30 seconds and I knew something was off. KNEW it. With every ounce of my being. I have never felt more intuitive in my life. I immediately gave my mom the third degree of which she responded with nervous giggles and "everything's alright"s. My sister thought I was weird and couldn't understand why I thought something was up. I, however, continued to hound my mom for days; persistent in proving that my gut feeling wasn't off.
She finally caved - a moment of which I am neither grateful nor regretful of. "Your dad is sick. He has cancer and it doesn't look good." I happened to be standing in my bathtub at the moment of her decided revelation. My knees buckled. But not in a dramatic collapse. I just sank. And then sat. That may be the hardest cry I've ever cried. An utterly helpless, lost, unbelievably frightened cry. And the last time I shed a tear over it.
I now was charged with being the strong one. I "had to be strong for my sisters because they weren't going to be able to handle it the way" I could. These words my mother said to me. Pointedly and matter-of-factly. Over the next four months, I went to every doctor's visit with my dad. Listened to every fear, every thought, every hope he had. My sisters still did not know. He wanted to wait until he had all the answers to let everyone know. So there we stood - my dad, my mom, and I. Walking the scariest and darkest path we've ever come upon. Knowing nothing and everything all at once.
I had to stare at each of my sisters' faces for four months and pretend like everything was okay. But, out of us girls, I was the only one who could have carried that burden. I was all to efficient in shutting down. Turning my emotions off like it was second nature. I'm more emotionally detached than anyone I know. I am insanely uncomfortable when it comes to highly emotional events. My heart shuts off. I don't even have to make a conscious decision about it; it just happens.
And after that day, the day I cried like I've never cried before, my mind shifted. My heart did shut off. My mind, well, it went into logic overdrive. What do we do now? How do I make you better dad? What can I do and how do I help? The only emotional question I allowed to creep into my mind was what would I do without him, if I lost him? How would I, would WE cope?
The day we finally told my sisters was the weirdest out of body moment for me. Everyone cried. Sobbed. Shook. Questioned and cursed. I just sat. Numb. Shut off. Displaced. My only purpose was consoling. The strange thing? I wouldn't change how those events played out. I would never want my sisters to have carried that burden; knowing their father is sick and not being able to share it with a sole. If I do nothing else for those girls in my life, I will and want to carry pain for them. Be their pillar of strength. If I was blessed with the ability to be strong, logical and emotionally detached in the right moments, I will never curse this trait. I will protect them always.
It's been three years... My dad has watched me graduate college. Watched me move away and return. Watched me land the job of my dreams. And continues to watch my journey. Still smiling every time I call to say hi and ask the same silly question every time he answers. "Hey dad! What are you doing?" And each response is supplemented with laughter, "I'm working Shelly." You never realize how much you cherish the most ridiculous little traditions, until they feel like they may clutched out from your grasp. I love you dad.
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