Letter 1

Hey, Dad!
     I just got off of the phone with you. You seem to be doing ok. You sound hopeful. I wish I could feel that same way. I wish I had the heart to tell you what the doctors say. They say that this disease is terminal. You will never get stronger. The muscles in your arm will continue to waste away. But you keep saying that you are believing God to heal you. You keep saying that you know you will be able to go to church next week. I wish I could believe that. I feel so selfish for thinking like that. In a way, I feel like it's my lack of faith that is keeping you bound in your disease. I know, I know! It's not true, but it's just how I feel. I also feel like maybe it would be easier for God to just take you now. I mean, why have you suffer like this.Yesterday, you said "I told the Lord that I am putting all of my trust in Him. If he wants to take me home, I'm okay. If he wants to keep me here, I'm okay."
     Man. I can't even imagine how it must feel to go from working two jobs to not being able to leave your house without someone holding you up in the span of a year. I remember last year when you told me about your arm for the first time. You couldn't raise it above your head. I thought that was strange. You thought you had a stroke. So did I. Then, there was the weight loss. At first, I thought you had changed your eating habits. Next, it was your memory. You would call me during the day when I was at work. You never remembered that I had to work. I would get so frustrated with you. I would see you call and not pick up. You just talked about the same things, over and over again. If I only knew that was just the early signs of dementia. If I would have paid more attention. If I would've been more proactive. But, that was last year. Things are very different than they were last year.
     You just celebrated your birthday last Tuesday. I bought you a strawberry milkshake from Dairy Queen. You drank most of it. I was so surprised by how much you drank. Your appetite hasn't been strong for a long time. I wonder if you actually eat. I worry about you living alone. Maybe I'll feel better once your home health aides start coming. I don't know.
     Well, it's time for me to sleep. I am exhausted.
                    Talk to you later, Dad!-Tina