We Can't Lay Down

When I was young, my parents were those parents who made you finish what you started. Sometimes it was squash on my plate, sometimes it was dance lessons and sometimes, it  was a marriage. My mom struggled the most with my divorce and because of her own lack of self forgiveness, she could not give me permission to leave. My dad had to do that. 

My dad is bigger than life in the physical and literal sense. Just the size of his hands are crazy. He’s a big, strong man, who has always lived life cornering the rails. I am his daughter. I know the limits, but I push and push until I’m right up on the edge …. Enough to drive my friends and family mad. Dad always lived big, Mom always loved big. How blessed are my brother and I to have both. 

My dad has cancer. 

I have continued to say that phrase ever so often over the past three months to make sure I’m living in reality. And as I write it out today, I still take a deep breath. In my mind, the strongest man in the world, the man who conquers anything in front of him has yet another test at 72 years old. It’s a grim reminder that life will have it’s challenges until the day we are no longer here. 

People spend so much time talking about the secret to success. Is it discipline? Is it privilege? Is it IQ? My dad has taught me it’s something very different, it’s failure. He’s not a perfectionist. And he certainly is not scared to take risks. He allows failure and adversity to fuel him. He believes in a higher power and he also believes in himself. I have never seen my dad give up. He won’t give up to cancer either. 

Last week, Dad’s PSA numbers came back alarmingly high. We were waiting on results so I stepped out of a meeting to take his call when the phone rang in the middle of the day. I could hear it in his voice before he said the words, “not good.” On that phone call, I felt overwhelmed by the limited options. We’ve done surgery. He has three blood clots. What do we do now?

“I’m going to go get on the tractor,” he said. 

I wanted to scream. I don’t want you to get on the tractor. I don’t want to go back to this meeting. I don’t want the world to take one more spin. I just want everything to stop and go back to the way it was before we were told you have cancer. 

And without saying any of that out loud, dad heard my sigh and simply said, “Baby, We Can’t Lay Down.” 

When he said those words, they were so intentional. I quickly grabbed a notepad and wrote them down. I wrote them down twice and I repeated them. I’m learning that strength comes in many forms. My primary vision of dad has been physical strength and now I see how strong he is mentally and spiritually. I saw his strength when he allowed me to empty his catheter bag after surgery and at home. I saw strength when he had to talk about very private matters in front of me with the doctor. I saw strength when he asked for the HIPAA form so I could talk directly to the doctor without his permission. I also see great strength in the word “We.” We can’t lay down.

Dad is worried that my brother and I are going to demand that he take it easy, that maybe he take a back seat for a while until we can get more answers, or see improvement. I get worried too.  But I would never ask the man who taught me how to live, to stop living. My dad has lived a life of getting back up. I would never want him to submit to the likes of cancer. 

Fight. Pray. Don’t lay down, Daddy. It would be so out of character now. Feed the chickens, bush hog the field, holler at the LSU Tigers, travel the country.

“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.”
-James, 1:12