Three years ago this past Saturday, my dad passed away from a relatively short battle with cancer. While both of my parents have always meant a lot to me, I always credit my dad for making me the man that I am today. The memory of his life is always one of respected and honor. But the memory of his last year with us is painful. To watch this man suffer and experience the tremendous amounts of pain he endured burns sadness in my heart.
The day before the anniversary of his death, I came across a post on Facebook with the following article. It painted, in pictures, the journey one man took watching his wife succumb to breast cancer. In the three years since my dad’s death, I have never found a closer representation (though far from exact) of what we went through watching my dad suffer. The author warns of the last three pictures, not because of anything graphic, but because he said “the last 3 photos destroyed me”. It destroyed me too.
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