How About We Don't Talk About Graves?

I had an odd conversation with my father on the phone today. He told me that he and his new wife really want to visit, as he still hasn't seen our new home. (He's about an hour or so away by car.) He knows that I am waiting to find out whether or not I'm going to do chemotherapy, but I guess he didn't realize that would be a factor in terms of me being prepared for a visit. So I let him know that while a visit sounded nice, if I do chemo, I know I'm probably not going to have the energy to prepare the house for company. (Because, honestly? If I show a relative my house for the first time, I spend at least two days cleaning everything in sight.)

His response was, "Well, you know, time is ticking away." Um, exactly what does that mean? Is it just me, or does that sound a bit ominous?

He mentioned he removed our old 1980s family portrait from his living room and gave it to my sister. After all, it had my late mother in it and he has remarried. He said he'd like a new portrait of his three kids together. I said, "Well, this might not be the best time for that." Ever the thoughtful guy, my dad pointed out if I have chemo then I can always wear a wig for the portrait! I was speechless. The old family portrait stayed up for over fifteen years. Do you think I want to look at a picture of me in a wig, looking crappy from chemotherapy, for another decade?

Then he asked if I'm "still going to do radiation." I said yes, because if you have a lumpectomy, having radiation therapy makes a 40% difference your chances for recurrence. His voice became dismal and he said, "Oh, honey, I have a baaaad feeling about that. I wish you didn't have to do that. I just don't know..."

THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT, Dad. Because before this, I felt just great about everything I'd have to go through!

I know radiation damaged my mother's heart, caused a build up of a lot of scar tissue that limited any heart surgery, and ultimately contributed to her death 22-years later. But radiation therapy in 1975 was hugely different from what's being done today. He knows that. I appreciate his concern, but exactly how does it help me to suggest that I'm making the wrong decision about critical treatment? I'm worrying enough about everything I have to go through without someone telling me that they have a "bad feeling" about this or that.

Somehow, in the course of conversation, he brought up the topic of my mother's grave. You see, my dad had been planning on being buried with her in Massachusetts, but now that he has remarried, he'll want to be buried with his new wife. That makes sense to me. In talking about what to do with the extra space available in my mother's grave (she was cremated) he said, "Well, we don't know what we're going to do about you and where you are going to be buried. I guess the family will have to take care of that."

I said, "Kathy will take care of that."

"Hmmm," he answered dubiously. "Well, I guess maybe she could."

Trying not to sound angry, I said, "I want her to." (Which part of "partner" is vague?)

Then I thought, wait a second! What the heck are we doing talking about where I'm going to be buried? I'm only forty years old! Please tell me we're not talking about this because I have cancer!

I did my best to find a reason to get off the phone shortly after that, but I felt shaken for hours afterward. It's funny how parents can have the power to completely turn you around. Makes me want to watch the caller ID for a few days!

I wonder how many hokey pokeys it would take to clear out that conversation?

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