ABSTRACT
I was in the office when I got the call from one of my brothers telling me about the brain tumor. That information made no sense to me. My father was so healthy, so sprightly, so able to take care of himself. Suddenly a wave, fast and furious, crashed all around and destabilized me – in that instant, I realized he was going to die. I hadn’t truly considered that possibility until just then. Of course, we all know our parents will die, as we know we will – but I hadn’t fully considered either of those facts to be facts that I needed to fully feel until right then. There must have been a tacit assumption deep in me that let me believe he would always be there, an omnipotent figure, even if I didn’t like to ascribe that much power to him. And I must have also somehow believed that we could fix our relationship someday. But my time was up for indulging my responses and thoughts – I had a patient waiting. I had to try and suck in my experience, turn it inside out. No visible tears, no sharing statement like, “I just found out my father has a BRAIN TUMOR.” Just the barest hint of a smile, and a move to focus on the story unfolding from the person before me. A BRAIN TUMOR kept flashing through my mind. I tried to banish those words and the thoughts and feelings that were stirred by them, although at times as my patient talked, I’m sure I wasn’t taking very much in, as if he were suddenly speaking a foreign language.
