I've put off writing this for about as long as I can. I have been avoiding you on purpose. I've been gone. I didn't want to tell you, and frankly, you people have been about the last thing on my mind the past few weeks. Do not take this news as heartless or cold. My mind has been fixed elsewhere and that elsewhere has flung me to the pits of human despair. My father died fourteen days ago. Of cancer. My father died of cancer and I'm pretty fucking un-ok with that.
This is the part where I'm supposed to go into detail about what he meant to me and all that he did for me, but those sentiments would fill a fucking epic novel and are too personal (if there is such a thing) for a sloppily and infrequently kept blog by a frustrated, chronic-disease riddled English major with a penchant for ten dollar words and melodramatics. I apologize for the literary vomit being spewed your way. This wasn't your fault. In fact, that's what's so frustrating. There is no one to blame. No one I can point a finger at and say, hey you motherfucker. How do you punch cancer in the balls? This frustration has been felt with my own health troubles and I can't help but think that there has to be a better way. An easy way. But I don't think there is. I don't need to be ok with this. No one has to be ok with our loved ones suffering and dying of these diseases. IT IS NOT OK.
Don't cope. Don't find closure. Fight back. Tell people it's not ok. Fight the cause, not the symptom.
Ranger, out.
