The Phone Call I Won't Forget

There's some phone calls in your life that you never forget.

There was the first time my high school crush called me, even if he wanted to ask for my friends number..
There was the phone calls that informed me of the passing of my Grampa, and then my Opa..
The call about my Opa was immediately (within 10 minutes) followed by the phone call that I was going to be on a tv show..

Then there was the call last week.

The call that came when I was driving home from work, in the middle of talking to my bff about her upcoming trip to BC at the end of the month.  The call from my Dad, asking me if I was driving, when I would be home, and that I needed to call him when I got there.

My heart dropped, and like a scene from a movie, I knew that whatever I was about to hear wasn't going to be something good.  I know I'm emotional, but I can cry and drive with the best of them.  If he couldn't tell me while I was in motion, it was almost as bad as if he had just told me.

It was the longest 10 minute drive ever.

I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
"I have liposarcoma"
Which basically translates itself into "I have cancer."
Which then pretty much translates into my brain acknowledging the information, but not being quite sure how to react or how to process it.

I had very quickly, mentally prepared myself on that 10 minute drive for the worst, and in my mind, that was what I got.  Of course there were plus sides to the diagnosis, and I was assured that things would work out and that  my dad would be another cancer survivor on the ever growing list.  But all positive twists aside - my brain still hadn't grasped the whole concept of the idea.  Cancer? My dad? What the fuck?

Go home now. Book a flight. Cry. Stare at the wall. Cry. Feel Helpless. Question why you moved 5000kms from home.

This was my basic thought process over the next few hours, followed by many hours of not having anything to say.  I didn't want to go on Facebook, or Twitter, or even People magazine.com.  It was like I was in a waking coma.  I told the people I needed to tell, just because they are important to me or they know my family directly.  I knew my relatives were going to find out, and I didn't want any messages about it.  I basically wanted to shield myself from reading anything.

When I returned to Facebook, I noticed that some members of my relatives had made small comments and posted some photos - things that I hadn't seen before (and I'm like the eye of sauron on there...}  Now don't get me wrong, I know people handle this sort of situation in many different ways, but personally - I find it really strange when people almost react as if someone has already died.  There's really no other way for me to put it, and I have been struggling whether to blog about it or not.  With some reassurance, and a reminder that I can do and say what I like here, I have to be honest when I say that some peoples reactions weird me out to the fullest extent.  Posting pictures of themselves and my dad, or saying comments like "i love so and so" are all very endearing and I'm sure it's just a show of support - but for some reason I find it morbid and strange.  If they wanted an accurate portrayal of the reaction to this news, it would be:

I know people say to be strong, think positive - and I am.  I really am.  But I can't justify ever posting something along the lines of "hope you pull through this" or "thinking about you and being strong for you" - hell I can't even repost those mass status updates that say "repost if you know someone with cancer" - it makes everything so much more sad.

I'm already sad.

I don't need to see it online before we even know if we have to be sad at all.  Let's do the surgery, let's do the treatment - let's stand on our heads and juggle kittens for fuck sakes, whatever it takes.

Let's just get it done.

And when it's done, and we know what the future holds - THEN post your pictures and make your comments.  But I think until then, out of respect for the person and the people most important to that person - please keep it positive. In fact, please keep it in your thoughts, and if you pray, then do that too.  I don't personally believe in that sort of thing, but I believe that my dads sense of humour and his take on life are similar to my own.  Don't take it too serious, unless the moment calls for it to be so.

I won't fly home (yet) but I will be thinking about you, and mom. And I miss you. And I love you both.