Defining Dad

In February, not long ago, there was World Cancer Day. It wasn’t something I’d been mindful of until I saw it splashed across social media. For a moment, I thought that maybe I should acknowledge dad in some way, but I thought better of it.

I understand the sentiment behind it. It stands to inspire people to be more proactive about screenings and tests that could potentially save their lives. And it gives the world pause to remember everyone whose felt the cold touch of cancer. Those that have lost their lives, those that have and are battling it, and loved ones who’ve had cancer upset the ground. It’s a chance to really recognize the paralyzing effect it has on our society, and what we can do about it.

But I don’t want to acknowledge dad. For me, dad was not his cancer. I don’t want to define him by it, nor would he want to be remembered for it. It may have taken his life, but it did not inspire it.

When he was sick, we rarely spoke of it. He didn’t want to be looked at as a patient, which was something we couldn’t bare to do either. Truthfully, he didn’t complain – save for the numbing chemo caused in his fingers, which handicapped the building and tinkering he loved to do so much. And he never got down on himself about having cancer. He didn’t look for sympathy or get upset. In fact, when we would angrily ask why him, he’d look at us with such powerful wisdom and say “why not me?” And of course, as was almost always the case, he was right. Cancer is unjust.

So instead, I want to spend such days thinking about what an amazing man he was. Someone that swallowed life whole and came back for more. How he lived a life of service helping others. How his family reigned before anything else. How he was a bit of a rascal, pulling pranks and teasing the people he loved most to no end. How he’d quip the best, dry remarks, such as my personal favorite whenever mom would ask where he was going – “crazy.”

Dad was many things. Enough things and moments that filled a brilliant lifetime. But he was not his cancer, and he never will be.