Losing a parent as an adult can be a profound experience, one that many can relate to yet remains deeply personal. The inevitability of death often touches a parent—it’s a truth that we all face eventually. Each passing carries its own story, laden with unique memories and emotions understood only by those closest to the departed. My father’s death echoed the stories of countless others, yet it was my family who truly grasped its significance.
At 23, while living in Berlin, I was meant to be engrossed in my German studies, but instead, I found myself exploring the city with a new companion who would later become my husband. Back then, the Internet was unreliable; I frequently visited a local café filled with smoke and the chatter of unemployed locals just to check my Hotmail and reassure my parents that I was doing well.
One chilly January morning, I opened an alarming email from my father. “I’m going to have a small surgery to remove a rib with a cancerous growth,” he wrote, attempting to downplay the seriousness of the situation. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.” Thus began his six-year struggle against the relentless foe of multiple myeloma.
My father’s journey with cancer started unexpectedly. He was at home, watching The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, when a sudden sneeze led to a pain in his rib. Initially dismissed as a workout injury, the pain persisted and ultimately led to an emergency room visit, where a series of tests revealed a devastating truth: this seemingly healthy man had been unknowingly harboring a deadly illness.
Eventually, I returned home and resumed my studies, while life for my family continued, albeit with interruptions. There were new symptoms, painful procedures, and anxious waits for test results, but the doctors managed to keep the cancer at bay for a time. However, by September 2008, the disease’s return marked the beginning of the end.
During my father’s final months, my family took turns supporting him. I remember afternoons spent in my childhood room, now transformed into a makeshift hospital, watching the news together. The world outside was crumbling, with economic turmoil and political upheaval, and my father was grappling with his own impending demise.
This illness brought us closer, creating long stretches of time that were no longer consumed by work obligations. We shared countless conversations in waiting rooms and during hospital stays, discussing everything from trivial gossip to profound topics. The reality of his limited time opened up a floodgate of words between us.
In facing his illness, he sought answers that eluded him. A cultural Jew and staunch atheist, he rejected the spiritual guidance offered by friends, instead expressing his frustration in a passionate letter to cancer itself. He demanded to know why this affliction exists and what purpose it serves, ultimately concluding that we are mere prisoners of our biology.
Cancer is merciless and indiscriminate, as poignantly described in Siddhartha Mukherjee’s acclaimed book, The Emperor of All Maladies. A brief visit to an oncologist’s waiting room serves as a harsh reminder that this disease does not discriminate. As my father prepared for the end, I found myself contemplating my own mortality and the legacy I would leave for my future children.
Traditionally, our last Father’s Day together was nothing special; my family never took the holiday too seriously. We always believed that mothers deserved the spotlight. But now, I find a renewed appreciation for the occasion, however commercial it may seem. I will evoke his voice in my memories, sharing stories with my daughter about her abuelo, who she never had the chance to meet. I picture my father in his prime, animatedly debating politics while munching on red cabbage.
This Father’s Day, I celebrate not just the holiday but the memory of a father who shaped my life, even in his absence.
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Summary
Losing a parent reshapes our understanding of holidays like Father’s Day. For me, the day now serves as a cherished reminder of my father’s impact on my life. While his battle with cancer brought us closer, it also left me contemplating my own mortality. Now, as I celebrate this day, I honor his memory and share his stories with my daughter.
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