Entitlement

I’ve always prided myself in not getting caught up in the generation of entitlement. I’ve always expected to work for my needs and wants. There’s nothing like the feeling of accomplishment honest hard work provides. Except, I did feel entitled for years... seventeen years to be exact.  I didn’t realize it at the time, I didn’t realize it until my heart was broken and I was surrounded by a pool of my own tears.  I felt entitled to having my dad alive until he was a very old man, we’re talking ancient.  It wasn’t just a basic expectation most people have regarding their parents, I felt god owed it to me.  So there you have it, my very own generation of entitlement.  

 

The last picture I took with my mom, celebrating my 12th birthday July 11, 1995

I was twelve years old when my mom passed away.  After a long battle with mental illness she committed suicide. After such a tragedy I always assumed my dad would be around for an exceptionally long time, it was only fair.  My dad had more than his share of touches with death over the years.  This only served as further proof to me that he was invincible.  Just recalling incidents that occurred after I was born: he fell off a telephone poll, was involved in a nasty motorcycle accident, bled out on the operating table during a routine back surgery and had to be revived, and beat stomach cancer. This is why the call I received from my dad Friday November 16, 2012 was such a shock.

 

Posing with my dad Thanksgiving 2008

I was sitting in my office wrapping up a typical busy day at work.  My dad had a routine scan that day to make sure he was still cancer free.  Around 4:30 pm my office phone rang, when I looked at the caller ID, it was my dad.  My heart stopped.  My dad NEVER called me at work.  You see, I learned my awesome work ethic from him.  He would never interrupt my work day for anything less than an emergency, not even to tell me his cancer was still gone.  That kind of news could wait for after business hours.  Before I even summoned to courage to pick up the phone I knew the cancer was back, and the situation had to be bleak if he was calling while I was still at work.  I picked up the phone and timidly answered, my voice shaking, fearing what was to come next.  The words that followed still echo in my ears, “Well kid, it’s back and it’s bad.  Stage four, there’s nothing they can do. (long pause) Are you okay?”  That was all that he was worried about, if we were okay.  He was already at peace with his death sentence, concerned only about his family.  I can’t even remember what I said to him besides asking how much time he had and telling him I loved him.  I normally worked until 5 pm, but under the circumstances I had to get out of the building as quickly as possible before breaking down.  I vaguely remember an employee walking in my office as soon as I hung up the phone needing assistance with something.  I grabbed my things and quickly excused myself, not answering their question, not helping.  I just left.  I barely made it to my car before breaking down. I somehow made it home, although the drive was a blur. I opened the door to find my husband and two sons already home.  I remember crying in my husbands arms while my sweet nineteen month son gave me hugs and kisses, so worried about his mommy, not understanding the situation.

The months that followed were with filled with endless heartache and countless hospital stays. Trial drugs didn’t work and the six to eight months initially given translated to less than four.  The cancer worked aggressively as I watched my dad wither away.  As painful as this time was, I learned a lot about myself and realized some old dusted dreams. I promised my dad I wasn’t going to let his death leave me bitter and even summoned the courage to speak at his funeral. Life has changed more than I could ever imagine over the last year.  I quit my job of  over a decade to be stay home with my boys, I lost my dad, and I moved to another state.  Life is never going to make sense, life is never going to be fair, but life can be as beautiful as you make it.