The Age Old Question

Nope, nothing to do with a chicken or an egg. Why do bad things happen to good people? As often as that question is asked, I'm not certain that anyone has the answer. My dad is battling lung cancer and for a 74 year old man, he's kicking its ass. But before the cancer, there were still complications. For twenty years of my life, I wanted nothing more than to exchange my dad for another one. Our relationship was so strained that even a simple hello could turn our interaction into an explosive, days long fight. I tip-toed around him so as not to disturb the delicate balance we had when there was finally peace between us. We were polar opposites: I liked to joke- he was serious, vacations to me were for relaxing- he always had a tight schedule, I was more liberal- he was straight laced conservative. We just had nothing in common but strands of DNA. I am ashamed to admit, but there would be times in my life where I would purposefully try to exclude my dad. Not because I was embarrassed of him, but simply because it was easier to exclude him than to fight him. As I grew up, the first thing on my agenda after turning 18 was to get out from under his roof. Finally, some peace. But even living in separate locations, the tensions between us grew to the point that I actually went 8 months without speaking, seeing, or interacting with my father. Bipolar disorder is the nastiest disease that exists (except for one, but I'll get to that later). For 8 months and 11 days, I have never felt such incredible, searing pain. I knew very well that the person who would get angry, frustrated, and upset was not my real father. That damned disease kept him suppressed. His sense of humor, his hilarious stories, his intelligent mind, his charisma, his unwavering loyalty...all suffocating under the heavy disease that was intent on rotting him from the inside out. But if you know me, my favorite kind of stories are redemption stories, and this is without a doubt a redemption story. After not seeing me for what felt like years, he knew he had to make a change. And he did. When I saw his phone number flashing on my cell phone screen, my hand literally shook. I reluctantly clicked 'send' on my phone which began my relationship with the most amazing father even my best dreams could not have created.

For a year and a half, my life with my dad was literally perfect. We joked, and told stories, and laughed, and talked about the world, and he became my best friend. What terrified me most for twenty years of my life was when the cancer eventually took my mom, I would be left with my dad. But not anymore because I knew that when the time came for her to go, I would have my dad and we could make up for lost time, just the two of us. We never mentioned the past, because even now when I try to think about those times, they are blurry like someone took those photos and smudged them so much that only the silhouettes of the subjects are recognizable. I was driving home from work in September of 2007 when that familiar screen of an incoming call was again flashing on my cell phone. My mom was calling to tell me about peculiar doctor's appointment. It appeared that when doing a routine physical for my dad, they discovered there were spots on his lungs. Not a big deal, lungs have age spots just like skin. But to be sure, a biopsy was scheduled. My mom was going to call me during my morning break to give me the results. The chances of cancer are so small and besides, Dad hasn't smoked in over twenty years. Regardless, I sat in a corner of the cafeteria at work clutching my phone like it was a fish that would wiggle away if I didn't grip it tight. The familiar flashing of an incoming call appeared and I found my hand shaking again. When I first heard the words "it is cancer" I literally thought I was dreaming. There was no way. I just got my dad. Twenty years of hoping for him, and getting him, only to potentially lose him from none other than cancer.

Thus began the year of surgeries, a heart-attack that I was certain would be his demise, hope of the tumors shrinking, surprise to hear they have spread, radiation, chemotherapy, injections, radiologists, oncologists, pills... He had his last treatment a few weeks ago. The doctors are certain they have contained the cancer cells. I am not so sure, but what choice to I have but to hope that they are gone? Dad does not look like himself. Inside, he is the same. Outside, he looks tired, thin, old, frail; not the strong, handsome, fun loving person he used to look like. Good thing looks don't change who you are. He was well enough to go to Chris's graduation party, and even better than that, he looks happy:


But back to my initial question, why do bad things happen to good people? My dad is the best person there is, who is going through some of the worst hell there is. I am not really sure. Why did we have to spend twenty years under a cloud of bipolar disorder only to spend another one fighting for air in the grips of cancer? I have a theory: perhaps bad things happen to everyone. Good, bad, in between. Sure, the degree of 'bad' is different but bad is bad, right? So if bad things happen to everyone, perhaps I should be leaping for joy that my dad is a good person. Because if bad things happen to everyone, not just good people, imagine being a terrible person undergoing cancer. Who would help you? Who would support you? Probably no one. With my dad, being an amazing person, he gets at least one card in the mail on a daily basis. People want to visit him, help him, bring him food, show love. I have never seen people love each other like I have when my dad got cancer. Some days I will go to my parents house and there will be one visitor after another, sitting on the floor next to him, showing him art that children have made for him, telling him jokes. Perhaps I shouldn't focus on the 'why' but instead on the 'what'. I think it is a waste of energy to figure out why, but seeing what people do during those hard times is what really matters.

My dad should hopefully start to feel more like himself in the next few weeks. His hair is slowly starting to grow back. So I will leave a picture of old times in hopes that soon it will be like that again:

For A Change

I figure it's past due for me to start writing in a blog like an adult and not utilize the sinking ship that is MySpace. This is partly due to the fact that I have needed a place to share my thoughts and be me. Without this group judging me for not being professional enough, or this group judging me for not being religious enough, or this group judging me for not x,y,& z enough. Now you can all judge me at once. If you wish. Or perhaps you can see these posts as variables that all add up to me and who I am, or at least striving to be.

I titled this blog On Learning About Happiness. I was thinking about calling it a pursuit or seeking of happiness, but I realized that without really having a solid understanding of what happiness is, it would be hard to start seeking something not yet definable or clearly recognizable. Instead, I opted to use learning about happiness. What is happiness and where is it found? Is there a difference between happiness and contentment? There have been times in my life when I assumed that some thing or some event would make me happy. But to my surprise, that thing or event really did not. Other times I have assumed the opposite: that this career choice or location to live would really make me miserable, but I was also surprised to find that I ended up being happy. So I suppose the purpose of taking the time to sit at my computer, log on to my blog, and write is to share my life experiences, thoughts, and questions in an effort to learn about happiness and maybe gain some perspective.

To start, this little lady without a doubt can always make me happy.