Nothing but complete disappointment ran across my mind the afternoon when the knowledge of my father’s cancer first came to me. There it was, a doctor’s note on the kitchen table opened with the words cancer treatment options. My heart practically sank to the floor. I stood there and thought to myself, How could he have kept this from me? As I stood there confused and overwhelmed he arrived home early for work on the perfect day. Immediately he could see the genuine concern on my face.
I asked, “Dad what is this?” as the paper slapped on the counter.
“Son,” as he looked into my eyes with complete sorrow and remorse, “ I have lung cancer.”
Hearing him actually say it for the first time really resonated with me. Memories of my childhood began playing in my head. Suddenly, I could see my father pushing me on the swings and taking me to baseball games. I thought to myself, has our journey together come to an end? A small part of me genuinely wanted to believe the cancer pamphlet was a misunderstanding.
The next thing out of my mouth was, “What are your plans for treatment?”
A minute that felt like a day passed as nothing was said. My mind began spinning at a million miles a minute going through every possible outcome of the words that will utter out of his mouth.
“I don’t plan on getting treatment,” my father casually explained as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and handed it to me.
To think that one measly beer will help me forget the pure anguish and frustration after hearing him say those words.
“What do you mean your not getting treatment?” I passive-aggressively yelled.
He walked away and turned on the television, something he has always done in times of distress. I followed and turned it right off.
“You need to talk to me, why are you just giving up with no means of hope.” My father went back into the kitchen picked up the letter that still makes me queasy just looking at.
“I looked into some of these cancer treatment facilities and because I have no health insurance the out of pocket payment program is completely out of the question,” he stated in a stern but truthful manner.
I began to frantically beg my dad into hearing reason, “Dad, we can get you the help and healthcare you need please don’t give up.”
He wouldn’t budge his mind was already made up.
My father sincerely explained, “ I don’t want to further put you in debt when I’m gone. I also want to enjoy my last few months in peace with no doctors pricking my every vein, no constant nausea, or body fatigue. I want to live my last few days surrounded by my family, not some hospital prolonging the inevitable.”
“How can you just give up?” I passive aggressively yelled.
“I’m not giving up son. I’m accepting the truth,”
“The truth of what? That you’re a coward?” I reluctantly stated.
“No, the truth of my inevitable death,” my father calmly explained.
Seeing that this conversation is going nowhere in the right direction, I gathered my things and took a drive.
As I drove down my favorite road, the crisp cool air allowed me to take a full deep breath. The beautiful green, red and orange leaves all created a magnificent autumn tunnel to keep my mind off things. Once the joy ride came to a conclusion, my mind immediately went back to how I can afford this procedure for my father. As a twenty-two-year-old fresh out of college even if I worked three jobs I couldn’t come up with the money in time before the cancer completely took over. My mind then transitioned into some unjust ways of making money. What exactly am I good at? I thought. Instantly I thought back to my cousin Nick, who made thousands of dollars trafficking illegal narcotics all around the country. I thought of all the money he made; however, the thought of how the law eventually caught up with him also crossed my mind.
I found myself in my driveway wrestling with the decision of whether to call Nick to assist me with his connection. Then I saw my sick father in the window and how he is all the family I have, since I’m an only child. The next thing I knew I found myself dialling the phone.
“Hey Nick, I have a question to ask you,” I nervously explained.
After explaining the entire situation with my father, his uncle, he agreed to meet with me in person to discuss a game plan.
Before Nick hung up the phone as he always does he told me, “Stay safe, see you tomorrow.”
Walking back into the house, I felt like a new person. I had a plan to save my dying father. I looked at my dad, smiled at him, and took a shower. In the shower the consequences of not just the law but my father finding out where the money came from made my head spin in all sorts of unforgiving scenarios. I thought back to highschool when I got busted for possession and how it tore him apart emotionally. However, before I went to bed I thought to myself, I can’t lose my father. I want to see him at my wedding and to be able to hold his grandchildren. I want to see him retire and settle down in life. Most of all I want to see him smile again.
The next morning I met with my cousin to discuss our first move. As I drove over there, I must’ve hit every red light on the way to his house. Luck with lights never fell on my side, but today was different. It was almost as if the universe was trying to tell me something. Upon arriving I saw two black pick up trucks parked outside Nick’s house. Filled with nerves and anticipation, I knocked on the door and Nick let me in. As I walked in two men with face tattoos, the drivers of the trucks, padded me down. The smell of marijuana hit me like a mack truck as Nick began giving me instructions for my first delivery.
Nick looked at me up and down with a smirk on his face and asked, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I looked at him with no hesitation, “I have no choice but to be.”
Nick shrugged his shoulders, looked me in the eyes and stated, “Let’s get started then.”
He explained the importance of hiding the narcotics in car tires. He explained his historic success over the years with trafficking drugs through state borders with ease. Once the two men with the face tattoos hid the drugs in my tires Nick turned and looked at me with a very serious face. “If you want to be successful and safe in this business you will do two things one, always drive with backup and two, never look through the narcotics.” I looked at him, knotted my head, and shook his hand.
Finally, the time to make money arrived. I got into my car with the two black pickups following close but not too close behind me. The four-hour drive was beautiful. Nothing but amazing autumn sunlight and the crisp cool wind brushing against my face. What was more beautiful was the ten thousand dollar payday I received once the delivery was made. A simple “Hey Bye” scenario with the two gentlemen as I pulled in and out of the garage and it was that easy.
The next thought that ran in to my mind, Where am I going to tell my dad this money came from? As I drove home and walked into my room I began looking for cancer fundraisers to create. I found the perfect website where I can create my fundraiser. It allows me to implement my drug money as an anonymous kind samaritan. My dad at first wasn’t convinced. In order to keep my money out of the hands of the DEA, I could only transfer small amounts of money. However, as I continued making these four-hour drives and continued working with Nick the money continued to pile up. As a result, the donations were too large for my father to ignore. Even though he would often say, “I want to die in peace.” I could see in his eyes he regained hope. That small amount of hope gave me an opportunity to convince him to seek treatment.
Finally, once the donations accumulated to more than one hundred thousand dollars he looked at me and said, “Let’s go to the hospital.”
After hearing those words my risk and hard work finally felt worth it. We arrived at the hospital and spoke with a doctor. We arranged a biopsy and a payment plan done solely through the fundraiser. As we walked out of the hospital I saw my dad genuinely smile. I haven’t seen him smile like that since before mom left.
He looked at me with that smile and said, “I have hope again.”
That hope soon transformed into misery two days later after we knew the biopsy results. We went back to the doctor’s office to hear the cancer spread all over my father’s body, making surgery his only viable option for survival.
The doctor looked us both in the eyes and said, “Even the surgery is no guarantee.”
I didn’t want to listen to that in my mind my dad was gonna get better no matter what. The doctor explained to us the uninsured cost to this procedure and my mouth almost dropped. I could be looking at another two to three more months of trafficking drugs. That was no concern to me, getting my father healthy was my number one concern. We figured out a month to month payment plan and the surgery was set for later next week.
The day of my father’s surgery had arrived and he looked miserable.
In the car on the way to the hospital, he would tell me, “I hope this light stays red so I don’t have to go to the hospital.”
I could tell he didn’t want to do this. He had that same look in his eye when mom made him sign the divorse papers. I could tell he was only doing this procedure for me. However, he still bit the bullet and walked into that hospital. I walked him into the operating room, gave him a hug, and said, “I love you.”
About five hours later, the surgery was complete. The doctor walked out of the room and told me how well he had done. He explained the usual. How he’s gonna need plenty of rest and attention. Unfortunately, since I’m so in debt I can’t give him that attention. I did for a little when he was in the hospital, but once he was back home I hired a nurse to watch over him. I began working many hours and overnight shifts with Nick in order to pay off the surgery.
Nick would often ask me, “Why aren’t you spending time with sick your father?”
I would often respond by saying, “Why not spend time with him once he’s healthy.”
As the weeks turned into months I continued to work more and more hours. My father’s health seemed to worsen and worsen as time went on. That only made me want to work more. It gave me a purpose. A purpose of doing something, instead of just staying at home hoping he’ll get better. That purpose soon turned to fear and anxiety when my luck ran out with the law.
Lights in my rearview and twenty pounds of narcotics in my tires. Immediately fear and anxiety rocked my body like a seizure. My palms were sweaty, my backside got tight as the officer approached my vehicle.
“How you doing tonight sir?” said the officer.
“Just fine and yourself?” I confidently asked.
“Any guns or narcotics in the vehicle tonight?” the officer asked.
“No, Sir!” I reluctantly exclaimed.
Saying no was the hardest decisions I had to make. I knew that telling the truth was hands down the safer decision to make. The risk versus reward scenarios kept playing in my head over and over as the situation unravelled.
On the one hand, I can get away with this, on the other, if he finds anything this situation spirals out of control.
“Do you know why I pulled you over tonight?” asked the officer. I knew exactly why he pulled me over. The potent smell of weed from my tires wafted to the officer’s nose. As anyone would do I played dumb.
“No sir!” I stuttered in fear.
“I’m getting a strong smell of marijuana from your vehicle. Do you mind stepping out of the vehicle?”asked the officer.
My heart sank as I unbuckled my seatbelt, praying I would be able to buckle it again after this interaction.
Once again the officer asked me, “Is there anything in the car I should know about before my dog smells around your vehicle?”
After careful thought, I knew I was in trouble. I sincerely looked at him and said, “Honestly officer there is a joint under my seat, and I was smoking one before you pulled me over.”
Immediately he found the joint and arrested me with charges of possession and driving under the influence. As I sat in the back of the cop car, I couldn’t help but smile as he drove passed my car and I looked at my unsearched tires. I thought back to Nick and figured I’d thank him, but more importantly ask him to bail me out of Jail.
After spending the night in jail, I immediately raced home to check on my father. I placed my release form on the kitchen table, ran upstairs, and saw my father. As I held his weak brittle hand as he rested tears ran down my cheeks like a waterfall. Seeing him like that only made me wish it would all go away. Not being able to see him in that state of health, I left the room and continued to use drug trafficking as a coping mechanism. My run in with the law made me extra cautious making me hire my own backup. This extra cost only extended my drug trafficking career taking me away from my father.
Finally, the day came when I collected all the money I needed to pay off my father’s surgery. I was so excited to come home and share the news with my dad. I called him numerous times eager to hear his voice, no response. I thought to myself, he always answers his phone. I practically ran into the house getting ready to think of a lie to explain how his cancer fundraiser paid off a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar surgery.
“Dad! Dad!” I didn’t hear anything. I thought to myself, that’s weird he always greets me when I walk in. I walked in the room to see his pale white, motionless body.
I looked for a heartbeat. “He’s gone,” I murmured.
On his night stand laid my release form left on the kitchen table weeks before. Followed by a letter from Nick explaining the entire situation. The letter, sent to me, consisted of Nick’s concerns of me dealing with my father’s illness. How I should spend time with my father instead of repressing it through drug trafficking. Finally, it all hit me at once as I collapsed onto my father’s dead corpse in agony. Just as I did a few weeks ago I cried by my father’s bedside, but not for the loss of my father but for the loss of time.