This is the second part of my series “Dad’s cancer”. You can find the first part here.
Our mom returned alone from the hospital, late in the night.
We all sat down as she told us the CT scanner results were unambiguous. Our dad had cancer.
They couldn’t say which cancer it was yet, a good or a bad one, but they had to operate on him as soon as possible.
We had wanted to go away the next day, but now that wasn’t possible anymore. Our mother asked the siblings of my father, who also went to the trip, whether they could take us kids with them.
We had decided that we wanted to go there, as a distraction and because we had friends who went there too. Our mother stayed at home.
Before we drove off the next day, we visited our father. He had forgotten why he was there. He thought it was just some examination, nothing serious.
It was sad seeing him there, acting like this. To me it seemed like he was suddenly 80 years old. And when we left the room and I saw him standing in his room at the window, I ran back again and hugged him and told him I loved him.
(This is my dad before we left. I edited to make him look like the hero he was to me.)
I think this was really important, for both of us.
So we spent a week in Munich and called our mother every evening to see if there were some news and to tell her we were okay.
Of course I thought a lot about him, but I still had fun there. I was in a room with my cousin and another good friend and we had a good time.
When we returned home, our mother went with us in the living room and told us to sit on the couch.
I remember how she broke into tears as she told us he had a malignant tumour. The operation had been successful, but the tumour would return. And there was no way to stop it.
I remember both my brothers crying. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t stupid, I understood what it meant. I was just so shocked. And I can’t cry in front of others, I just can’t.
I got really angry when my mother told me, that I “don’t have to pretend to be the tough one”, it would be okay if I cried.
When I was alone in my bedroom I did cry.
I hugged the teddy bear my father had given me when I was small and had nightmares. He had bought him when he had been 20 years old and ever since I got him I can’t sleep without him in my arms.
We visited him again this day. He had a scar on his head and lost some hair.
He was so happy to see us and to hear what we had seen during the week and to see the pictures we had taken.
Proudly I gave him the gingerbread heart I had bought him in Munich. On it was written “I love you” (It was the one I thought fitted best.)
When he returned home he put it at his bedside table and kept it there forever.
If you have any questions, go ahead and ask, I’ll answer them ASAP!
Feel free to leave a comment.