Growing Pains

When I was younger, about 7 and then again at about 11, I had major growth spurts. They happened mostly in my legs and the worst pain would come in the middle of the night. I would wake up screaming and crying. My daddy would come downstairs and carry me up to my parents’ room. After rubbing some kind of cream onto my legs to help the aching, they would let me sleep between them for the rest of the night. Such a place of security, tucked in safe and sound between Mommy and Daddy. While the growing pains were a very physical problem, there was an emotional piece of me tied to them. In taking care of the physical, my dad also took care of the emotional: the need for love and security.
I have never known my father as a truly healthy man. He has always had some medical issue or other. Seeing the strongest, most important man in your life, trying to smile through the pain and the tubes and wires, takes a little piece of your heart every single time. I used to wish that he would never end up there again. Now I just wish for the pain to stop. For him. For my family. I wish for the strength to let him go when the time comes. Cancer does not care what my hopes and dreams are.
I remember dreaming once when my daddy was really sick in the hospital that I was trying to follow him upstairs but I wasn’t allowed to go. Suddenly it was clear he was dying, leaving me behind. More than anything I wanted to go with him.
But now I see that my new wishes include what I know he wishes for me and will continue to wish even when he is no longer here to tell me. I have to keep living. I dream of living a life that he would be proud of, that he is a part of because I carry all that he has ever taught me.
Live. Love. Remember.
Some growing pains are beyond the care of humans.