The other day, when looking through my photo albums for another list, I noticed a journal entry from when my Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor and I thought I'd eventually list these journals. In honour of World Cancer Day yesterday, now seems fitting. Buckle up, this ones a bit heavy.
  1. 25th December 1994 Christmas Day // I HATE CANCER.
    For a fifteen year old who was strong in her faith, loved Christmas and her family, this day was truly terrible. Dad's cancer was a brain tumor and it (the tumor) was pressing on some pretty important glands. It fucked with his emotional balance and at one point regressed his behaviour back to when he was a young boy. In turn it fucked with our emotional balance too. Brain tumors are true terrorists.
  2. I sat under the staircase eating, praying + crying.
    My how things have changed. When I'm that emotionally charged these days I just can't eat! I recall this moment vividly. It was such a low. And for what, Sarah's dirty/stained feet? Well, that's what it felt like back then. Sobbing into my bowl not knowing what was going on. I was so confused. I remember asking God, "why?" a lot. The only thing I knew to do was to just cry out the pain.
  3. The bit about Donna not being there. That's my older sister.
    Truth is, Donna wasn't around a lot. I guess we all have our coping mechanisms. Back then it would upset me. I'm trying to recall why exactly; was it that if I had to go through this, so did she. Was it that she could drive and I found that insanely unfair that she could escape and I could not. Was it that she wasn't there on Christmas Day? Knowing me, it would have been a mixture of all three. I look back now and all I see is the girl that shouldered it all without the sister she looked up to.
  4. They argued in Italian!
    Ahhh, half the motivation in my teens to learn our language was to stop these private conversations, and in this case, argument from taking place. All we understood was our names each time they featured in the cacophony of rolled r's and half a dozen "Allora!". Nothing would piss me off more than this!
  5. The tear stained HELP
    Oh Jess, my heart swells when I read this. I just wish the 36 y.o me could sweep you up in my arms and convince you that it will all be ok. It's cliche to say it, because everyone does, all those tears did make me stronger. Because I chose to let them make me stronger.