The Truth Hurts

I admit it. Writing this blog is quite cathartic for me, unexpectedly so. I have at times injected a great deal of the emotion I am feeling. It is often the profoundness of the moment that virtually compels me to write. I have discovered this is a common compensatory behavior during times of [severe] depression.

When I began this blog, I declared to myself that I would write honestly and candidly, not shading the truth. You, who are my father’s friends and colleagues deserve no less. Nor, certainly, does my dad. If I were to withhold the truth about his prognosis, his chances for long–term survival, you might come to harbor unfounded hopes or delay actions that in fact demand urgency. But such honestly forces me to be pragmatic and realistic in assessing the facts and circumstances. These assessments necessarily arouse great emotion in me. I love my father dearly and it hurts beyond expressibility to watch him die, both for his pain and suffering and for my impending loss—although I have already lost much of him, and more each day.

As part of this commitment to honestly, I also stipulated that I would not alter what I’ve already written, save for minor edits, principally to correct errant punctuation and misspellings. In particular, I would not delete a post. I’ve violated my deletion rule once, with good, personal reason. I shan’t do it again. I have not forsaken my editing strictures. Thus, I have left in statements that reflect my anguish and pain that were written reflexively as I reported on his condition. (It is reasonable to assume that you or others have already viewed these statements by the time I’ve regained sufficient composure that I have thoughts of eliding them, rendering such actions moot.)

I hope that you are not offended or leastwise put off by these inclusions. Regardless, I ask that you please see them for what they are: A written testament of a son who deeply admires, respects and loves his dying father, his best friend.

Brian