Two Marines

Since Thursday I have met two men who both served in the Marines. One on land a foot soldier, the other a pilot. Both over 6'0 tall. The pilot, lean, cerebral, and vigilant. The foot soldier, muscular, decisive, and forward direct.

Aside from this blog, in the course of conversation, these two Marines are the only two people (not in the know) I mentioned dad's cancer to. When meeting strangers for the first, second, third time, I say little if anything about my personal life.

However

Military men talk entirely different than civilian men. It is in their training. Collecting data. Sorting information. Resolute. Completion steadfast and purposeful.

My dad would sometimes speak this way - brief, precise and direct. More instructive, less fluent.

As it would happen, both Marines too lost loved ones due to cancer both in the last two years.

The pilot when speaking of his experience was soft spoken yet firm, articulate and compassionate.

The foot soldier when speaking of his experience remained steady, in control, succinct yet compassionate.

I did not anticipate the weight my dad's cancer has had on my mind. Cancer effects everyone differently. Death effects everyone differently. And while I know this, I don't understand why this weighs so heavily on my mind, and not as much on others near and dear.

Between the two Marines, I can still hear the foot soldier telling me, "You have to keep going. You have to live. You have to work. You have to keep going. You have no other choice."

Simple.

It is with his words I carry with me today and following days forward. I have to keep going. In part because it is the pilot I wish to see again some day. Soon.

I have to keep going.

Thank you gentlemen. For everything.

The cancer has spread to my dad's head. Artificial life cannot help him now. Dad is going into hospice care. Between 1-5 weeks they estimate.

I wish you could have met my dad. He would have opened his front door, hugged you, offered you something drink, insist you try his home made pasta while proudly showing you the squash freshly plucked from his garden.

We have to keep going.

We have no other choice.