My mother came to my office today. She came in composed, then broke down and cried, the composed herself again, then cried again. Her face was tired and her movements slow at first, she seemed somehow stronger when she did leave.
Letting out the tears, and then being distracted from the pain can bring a relief that money can't buy sometimes.
My parents spent yesterday at the doctor. They were ultimately told that the surgery previously planned for my dad would not be taking place. There's too much cancer and it's spread to at least 6 spots on his bones now.
I do not wish him dead, but I find myself more and more grateful that I'm coming to the final page in this book. That one day I'll be able to breathe a breath of relief, knowing that someone that has brought so much pain, will never hurt anyone again.
I am tired from holding my breath, from watching suspiciously, from trying to forever counter an enemy who strikes with twisted truth in weak places no one would ever notice and only when no one is watching.
I have learned so much good from him though. I have learned to be a hard worker, I have learned to pay bills on time, every time. I have learned that if someone needs help my answer should always be yes, more so, I've learned to offer before they ever have to ask. I've learned to tithe and tithe generously and faithfully.
And because of him I learned "shades" of truth, I learned myself how to twist it around so people would not be hurt, and because of that I've learned how simple it is to lie. Even in the simplest words from saying "We" instead of "I". There is 100% truth, and there is a lie. I hope to spend the rest of my days speaking only truth, 100% truth with nothing ever again tweaked to serve my purpose.
Sometimes the things you learn from people are simply the ways not to do things. Because of my dad I've learned who I don't want to be. I've learned to guard against foolish things that can eat at me and ultimately control and ruin me. More than anything, because of this man I have learned compassion. Not the easy compassion felt for someone innocent, but the difficult compassion felt for someone who has given you pain.
When I left home at 17 I was fervently praying that my dad would die a slow and painful death so that he might gain even a glimpse of the pain he causes. Today I sit having watched him do just that, and I've learned that true regret brings a pain all it's own.
He's dying, but he's dying while working hard trying to make sure that my mother will be well taken care of when he dies. I hope I die with even half that kind of strength.