Finding My Sacred

Losing My Faith

In November 1998, we noticed my dad was suddenly tired all the time. A man who never complained was having back pain. He scheduled a doctor visit which was two weeks out. In the meantime, his appetite went away and we were worried, but not in a panic. The pillar of stability in my life was not his usual self. My mind reasoned it would somehow get better, after all my dad Richard Nelson Smith was a hardworking, strong man with hands of steel. He made time for me in his busy schedule, and could never go to bed angry with me. If we had any disagreements ever, he would come downstairs to my room and apologize. We would both hug, I'd be in tears, and he would tell me, "Toughen up."
My dad had a mellow temperament, always calm in times of chaos. He was the first to pull over and run to someone's aid if he came upon an accident. Neighbors would knock on our door if they had a plumbing or water leak. He would tease my mom if a neighbor lady came to our door asking for help.
"You better take good care of me, the neighbor ladies won't stop knocking at my door." he would joke.
I had to laugh because the neighbor lady on the corner was getting a divorce, and she came and told my dad her entire business.
He stood outside and said, "So, he kicked you to the curb?" He smiled.
"No, I kicked him to the curb." She laughed.
Oh my God! Did my dad really say that? Only he could get away with that!
He didn't call me by my name, he would say, "Shi aweeh," which in Navajo means, "My child." I know enough Navajo to understand yet not enough to speak it fluently. Navajo words are filled with emotion, and you get a visual description with it. This to me makes the language powerful. When he addressed me in Navajo, he was saying, ''You're my child, who I love." I deeply felt the sentiment behind his words in Navajo, there are tones and pitches for certain words, which makes the language expressive, emotional.
Daddy was the person who I knew could get me through anything. To me, he represented true integrity. His work ethic was hard; his honor was important to him, and he was selfless, helping others, working for free, fixing faucets, air conditioners. You name it, he could fix it.
He couldn't be down for long, even though he felt ill he insisted on going to work, which was a difficult job of welding twelve hour days. His welding was spot on; his work depended upon him, and they gave him a lot of overtime. He would often work late and come in the door limping.  My job was to tug his work boots off of him which I skillfully learned to do, tugging from the heel and peeling them off his foot.  He would let out a sigh and say thank you.
When my mom told me he was not feeling well, I turned to daily morning prayers during that time. I prayed hard and even brought out my medicine bag he gave me. Isn't it strange how a lot of us suddenly turn to God or Spirit in our most desperate times? We're almost like the person who only tracks you down when they are in need of money. I was that person with God. My dad was sick, and I believed if I prayed hard, he would grant me a favor. After all, I was a deserving good person. I remember the day of his diagnosis clearly. We ended up in the emergency room late one evening in January; my dad had an IV in his arm, and they were taking blood from him. He turned into the one comforting me. I clung to his arm tightly, and I must have looked worried.
He turned to me and said, "It will be ok, I'll be ok."
I remember praying in my mind, begging God, "Please don't let him die."
I bargained with God to start attending church again, to devote all I have to him.
After several hours of waiting for his lab work, a CT scan, and draining his stomach of fluid, the young doctor sat us down. My mom, dad and I were in the hospital hallway, and we held hands.
"We found a lot of cancer in your scan, it's the fatal kind, you have stage 4 pancreatic cancer, it's incurable," the doctor said matter of fact, no emotion.
My mom and I cried and held on to my dad. He was in disbelief. We asked how long he had and if he could do treatments. The doctor said only the oncologist would know, but from what he knows, there was nothing that could be done. I was angry with his bluntness and his lack of compassion. I knew I needed to be strong, or at least act strong, for my mom and dad.
Coming to terms with one's own fate, has to be the most difficult challenge a person has to face, at no matter what age.
From "How is my family going to go on without me?" to the fearful question of "What will become of me?"
I remember waking up at sunrise the morning after my father's diagnosis, medicine bag in hand, praying for a long time and begging God to spare my dad. I couldn't comprehend a life without him. I asked God for guidance and a miraculous cure. Later that day, we were sent to an oncologist who eventually confirmed the worst at the hospital. My dad had Adenocarcinoma, the most aggressive type of pancreas cancer. No treatment would help. We ended up taking him to the U of U cancer center where we were blessed to meet a wonderful oncologist doctor, Dr. Byes. She knew what we were up against, but her job was to keep him comfortable, and keep our spirits up. I knew she was heaven sent – her optimism was contagious, and she spoke directly to my dad as though he were the only one in the room. She gave him fluids and did some chemo treatments, and I am thankful for her presence.
The whole experience of going through my dad being sick, hit me hard driving home from work one day. I knew he had incurable cancer, and it became overwhelming. Dizziness settled in and I had the urge to jump out of the car. I pulled over on the side of the road, my heart was pounding, my knuckles were clenched, my palms were sweaty. Was I losing it? I stepped out of the car and felt like I had to catch my breath, my face was hot. I gave in and cried my eyes out. I had to walk around the parking lot for the next fifteen minutes. I dismissed that moment as a weird incident. It felt like I was going crazy inside, yet I was still alive and functioning. Little did I know that what I experienced was a full blown panic attack.