Father’s Day certainly means so much more to me than it used to. Before being diagnosed with blood cancer, I suppose like many others I took the day for granted – it was just another excuse for a family get together. The day is so much more now; it’s a celebration of how we as a family supported each other and collectively made it through what was such a horrendous episode in our lives; it’s an absolute acknowledgment of what we mean to each other.
I have two absolutely wonderful loving daughters who I think the world of. I remember when I was first diagnosed with leukaemia that I had a million things swimming around in my head but something that always surfaced was a feeling of utter helplessness and frustration that I wasn’t in a position to protect and support them during a key moment in their lives. This was closely followed by the truly terrifying thought that I may not be around to see them grow up. I wanted to see them marry and have kids, I wanted to see and play with my grandchildren… most of all, I couldn’t stand the thought that I would not be able to simply be there if they needed me.
Going through the treatment was awful but I think, looking back, that my natural reaction was to try and shield my daughters from much of that. My younger daughter Jessie was in her final year of a four year law degree and my older daughter Mindy was vying for a management role at work. I remember trying to strike a bargain with them at my bedside – that if they successfully focused on their respective careers, in return I would beat the disease. Looking back, clearly I was in no position to guarantee my end of the bargain, but it was a coping mechanism that helped me maintain some semblance of being able to help my daughters through… I guess we all just played along with the fiction.
The feelings of helplessness were never far from my mind. I had always been there when they needed me, but I was no use to anyone in a hospital bed. I remember about halfway through my treatment one of my daughters moved flat and she had to arrange for someone to help her move! There’s nothing particularly unusual about that, you may think… but that was my job and it always had been. Not being able to help just highlighted my predicament and gave me a glimpse of what the future might be like if I didn’t pull through.
Now that I’m in remission, we’ll be together once again as a family on Sunday – but forget Father’s Day, it’s Daughter’s Day in my books.
MINDY'S STORY
Your initial reaction is of shock and disbelief. The cliché of “Until it happens to you, you will never understand,” unfortunately for us now made sense. When I think back to when we found out, the image of walking into the family room comes into my head and I replay the horrendous moment we were told.
We were one of the fortunate who had never known a family member to suffer from any form of severe illness, let alone cancer. We didn't realise it at the time but leukaemia would come to dominate our lives from that moment onwards.
My sister Jessie and I were both at key stages in our lives – I was working towards a promotion at work and Jessie was entering her final year at University. Whilst there were undoubtedly some very difficult times, we were always able to look to our dad for guidance and our source of inspiration.
His positive, can-do attitude gave us both the strength to deal with what was happening at home whilst having to get on with day-to-day life. In a strange way we felt that by us succeeding and making him proud we would all get through this and come out the other side together.
Watching a loved one go through such a horrendous experience was not easy. You go through a range of emotions and you learn to grow a thick skin very quickly, because it's not about you, it's about them. When you allow yourself to be scared, you hear voices in your head repeating, “If you feel bad, just imagine what it’s like for them.”
From the outset you try and be positive but when you’re alone, you can’t help but contemplate the other scenario and the impact that it could have for you all: “will my mum cope? We’re a small close family – how can it be the same if a quarter of us isn’t there?”
We were so relieved to hear that Dad had gone into remission and over the following months we’ve watched him recover. We are very lucky and one of the fortunate families who can celebrate Father’s day this Sunday together. As annoying as they are, clichés do ring true and although this awful experience has made us even closer, cherish every moment you can together as you never know the cards that you’ll be dealt in life.