The Gift That Keeps On Giving

As you know, my Dad and I shared the same rare bone marrow disorder. He passed away in February from even rarer complications of that rare disorder. Talk about being one in a million...

Today I had my periodic consult at Johns Hopkins, just to make sure I'm staying on track. We discussed the tests and treatments (which is to say, there is no treatment--just management of symptoms). I almost didn't make it out of the visit without dissolving in tears because my regular roster of tests now includes screenings for all of the complications that took my Dad's life back when we didn't know to check for them.

It was a lonely drive home, if not physically certainly psychically. There is something singularly desolate in realizing that you will live a longer life because your father died. His death was, in a way, a gift of life. I know this is how he'd have planned it if he could have had the choice, but it leaves me with profound survivor's guilt to the extent that I have been unable to even speak these words since February. Perhaps most specifically because I'm grateful for the knowledge.

I look at my daughter and I want to be here. I want to live. I want to be healthy. I want to grow old, get fat and stay happy. And, because my father's passing raised the red flags, damned if that just might not happen, precluding any of my usual unfortunate bus accidents, plier incidents or bread knife mishaps. It is that gratitude-in-grief that makes my good health a bittersweet condition, knowing that it has come at such a cost, and knowing how I struggle to reconcile the two feelings.

So what's my point, besides confessing all in an uncharacteristic fashion?

Life is good. Enjoy it, be happy in it. Stop worrying if you are too fat or thin or old or gray or poor or unfulfilled. Don't tell me you aren't happy or you're so stressed or whatever. Fix it or forget it. Do something about it or shut up. If you are physically healthy, financially able to afford three squares a day, and able to count at least one person who loves you, you are a lucky SOB indeed. So cut the crap and enjoy the ride. Don't be an ingrate. Life is a gift that can be repo'd at any moment. It's a sweet deal. Made all the sweeter for me by the fact that my Dad is still taking care of me, even after he has gone.