Four years ago, my father got sick. I can not say what disease ails my father, because not even my father knows. At the time, I'm not sure what was worse- seeing my father plagued with a disease which could not even be diagnosed, let alone cured, or watching a man who had been vigorously active slowly become less and less energetic. Our family watched with heartbreak as my father slowly went from a man who played golf at least 350 days out of the year, refereed basketball and even played basketball with friends a few weeks every winter to a man who required 12 hours of sleep per day.
Even though I was an "adult" by this time, I could not fathom what was happening to my father. It did not make sense that he could go from so active to so tired in such a short amount of time. His condition went from bad to worse and it wasn't long before he had trouble standing. He would 'bob' up and down or brace himself against whatever he could grab to prevent himself from falling. Once, at a wedding reception, a man who had just been introduced to my father made a joke about his balance being affected by too much alcohol. My father has not drank alcohol in almost 20 years.
My father has been to countless doctors, been "diagnosed" and re-diagnosed far more than is acceptable and changed medication almost regularly for the past four years. By now, my family has almost come to accept the gut-wrenching fact that no one seems to be able to help him, but it doesn't make it any easier or less painful. My father doesn't let us feel sorry for him and he tries acting tougher than he is at times or even downplaying his condition. I think he forgets sometimes that I'm 22 now, not 5 and this makes it impossible to hide the severity of his condition from me. I love him for trying, though. Having a sick father has been heart breaking, but it has also made me appreciate what he has meant to our family. He is our pillar, and I will never forget the things my father taught me.
*Picture is my mother and father dancing at my brother's wedding
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