Bailey Blog

My dad has stomach cancer. He was diagnosed about 2 years ago and from everything we’ve learned thus far, it is the kind of cancer few survive. Those that do, are are simply miracle cases.

Since then, he has endured countless sessions of some of the worst types of chemo-therapy imaginable, implants for injections sites, infusions, PET scans, CAT scans, immuno-therapy, and surgeries. So many horrific, painful, near-death, everything-went-wrong type of surgeries. Each July, we buckled up for a the next thing he might not survive. Watched the unimaginable pain in his eyes and body as he fights for his life and fights to have just a little more time with us.

Within the last few weeks, he asked his feeding tube be removed from him as it hinders his quality of life and hasn’t been the blessing we thought it would be. With this added freedom of mobility and autonomy, he still takes every chance he can to participate in chemo; even when it makes him so sick he can’t do much but lay around for days at a time.

It is during one of these times that I made my way to his house after work. After being sick for a week, I was long over due to visit and catch up with him. I had just returned from Disneyland the day before, and was explaining all the rides we went on and my slight obsessions with The Matterhorn ride and the Yetis that the rollercoaster has interspersed through the mountain.

It was then that a familiar light returned to his eyes, and he used his palms to push himself up further on the bed into a full sitting position. We were still sitting side by side when he went into excited detail about the Giant of Kandahar, nephilim, big foot, and the yeti. Each story more harrowing than the last.

Stories of Afghanistan and the Kandahar Giant, with chilling descriptions of the swift death that followed each member who approached his cave. Tales of Bigfoot and his unimaginable speed running against cars with military men staring in shock and horror.

The most intriguing to me was the story of a Native American/French Chieftain of the East Coast of North America. The story goes (circa 1750s) that this chieftain realized supplies and people began disappearing from his tribal society. Over a few days, they eventually tracked the animals stealing from them and found the remnants of their people and supplies; dead or otherwise stored and destroyed. The scene was gruesome and the young Chieftain lost his head in battle. Though his war band rang victorious, their losses were great and their supernatural opponents not forgotten.

Whether or not these creatures exist will be up for debate, I’m sure, until the end of time. But I think the excitement and contemplation they bring to us is to be noted. The idea that we do not truly know our world and everything that lurks in the shadows, dwells in the deepest oceans, flies above, or inhabits the caves of our quiet lands is intriguing. These curious stories keep our minds running and defy the logic that we understand everything about our own existence.

I choose to believe that magic, spirituality, and the other exist; possibly even co-exist with us here. Who’s to say they don’t ? Who would want to say they don’t?

Death is a new adventure my dad stares in the face and smiles at because he is not done with his life adventure. There is so much to discover and contemplate in the here and now. Though death may be eminent, the magic in him does not balk. Our curiosity as humans burns on and I know my dad will take in every last mystery life has to offer for as long as he can listen. Let it fuel the thrill in his soul when he discovers there is more to the enigma of living.

Who knows, he might just live forever.