The last year has been immensely trying, emotionally.

Approximately 13 months ago, my wife and I received a late-night phone call from her parents.  Kristin’s father had been diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer.  We sat in silence staring into the iPad while we FaceTime’d with the in-laws, absorbing the diagnosis, future plans, and brief flashes into our future.

What I want to surface here, is not the call to fight cancer but the emotional and physical suffering surrounding a loved one battling cancer.

It’s ugly.  Really.  Fucking. Ugly.

Over the last year, we watched a happy, joyful man degrade, emotionally and physically.  I’m fortunate enough to have both of my own parents alive.  I knew going into this phase of life would be challenging and surprising.  Entering your thirties feels like an escape from the toxic, unknown, and insecure 20’s.  You enter your thirties with confidence, assurance, and perhaps some sort of measurable success.  I’m fortunate to marry, have a wonderfully lucrative career, and loving family.

Rarely do we speak openly about the things that can go wrong, ranging from divorce to terminal illness.  No one covers how to deal with all the ugliness that starts to manifest itself (if they do, I’ve apparently missed the memo).  I realize maybe I’m partly to blame.  I’ve always focused on the positive, compartmentalized sadness, and stuck to having a can-do attitude.

It’s been fucking tiring.

My wife and I went from the happy-go-lucky couple to having ugly fights over stupid, stupid things because of this ugly disease.  We went from planning weeks-long vacations to how we can move schedules around to be there for family.  We went from celebrating birthdays to cancer-cell counts and the number of chemotherapy appointments endured.

It’s only been four days since Glen’s passing.  I miss him, his family misses him, his friends miss him.  My internal struggle has been separating the death of a greatly loved man and how I miss my own father.

Coming back to all those ugly things you find in your thirties, my loving parents separated after nearly thirty years together.  I don’t blame anyone for their separation.  I understand their need to be happy, to have individual needs and wants.

I’ve gone through the therapy, asking those hard questions, have had the privilege of spending a lot of time in introspection.  Going through this process of grieving the physical loss of someone, I realize I’m still grieving the emotional loss of my own father.  I’ve had to separate that grief with, the grief I have for Glen and my family.

The last four days have been filled with laughter and tears.  We reminisced all the good and quirks of a life well-lived by a man that dearly loved his family, friends, and the people around him.

I know the road ahead isn’t going to be any easier.  There’s going to be a lot of “firsts” this year.  We’re all trying to move forward and this post is probably something I’m doing for my own benefit right now.  I don’t have any witty advice or anecdotal story for you, dear reader.  All I can tell you is what we all know, life is really, really, fucking short.

Go say those things you want to say to your loved ones.  Do the things you love.  Live the life you want to live.

***

It was 1:46 AM when Kristin’s mom called.

It was 3:49 AM when I saw the missed call and called back.

It was 4:00 AM when I had to gently tell Kristin, “Wake up.”

It was 8:16 AM, Kristin texts me, “He’s gone.”

 

Rest in peace Glen.  We love you.