The Man That Made You.

Updated: Feb 5

Dad. Daddy. Ba. Father. Old man. All the ways we call the man that "made" us, our fathers. For me, it was always daddy. It was just a fitting word. I suppose, I could have just stuck with "dad," but why would I? I guess once you lose your ego, you start not caring how others perceive you. You start un-filtering the things that need to be said, said & heard. Your ego, the inner demon. I kind of wish I would have lost mine a lot sooner than I did. Nevertheless, I am forever grateful.

Our parents have a unique purpose in our lives. From taking our first steps to our last dance, they are our protectors. They teach us everything we need to know. When time allows the front door to our house to magically become unlocked, we find ourselves out in the world, acting like we know what we are doing.

For me, having a dad was never something I was willing to negotiate with. After what I would call an unsettling year somewhere at about 27, I was about to come face to face with the possibility I may have to. The one single thing that I always feared. Losing my dad. Fear. How could you not fear everything being a nurse in this day and age? My four-and-a-half-year-old daughter could tell you, smoking equals cancer; lung cancer equals death. I am sorry I said that; I shouldn't ever be pessimistic... but it's the truth. My dad had already lost two brothers under the age of 50 to that C word. It was no shocking surprise. Cancer was genetically mutated into my ancestors' genes, particularly the smokers, that was. It was fact, not fiction, sadly, with many mass cards to prove it.

So back to being asked to face my biggest fear. The thing I had wished against on every birthday cake from as far back as I could remember. My birthday wish, every year. {I wish my parents never die before me}. Hold on, for a moment there, I almost just rephrased the way my birthday wish echoed to you; replaying in my mind after it just translated onto this page. Why would I do that? Why would I try to change my memory? Just to make this sound more "bloggy ?" I didn't; I won't.

When I began this journey, I committed to myself to be true to who I am. And I will. I know nothing about this blogging stuff. I am not a blogger; I am not pretending to be one. I am a person placed in your life, for whatever unknown known reason, to inspire & to heal you. So bear with me as I develop my blog-like capabilities, lol, j/k.

Ten years ago, to me, any spot on a smoker's lung meant cancer. So not surprisingly, when my dads' respiratory symptoms, which led to a biopsy, came back as an adenocarcinoma, I knew what was to lie ahead. Or did I? I didn't. Via miracle and right lung lobectomy {lung removal}, ten years later, my dad is still here. Still here? SORRY, DAD, you know what I mean. You survived the big C, the lung cancer C. Being physically present in this universe; after that diagnosis seems like an obvious intervention from our Divine Maker. But phrased differently, my dad is alive. A gift from God nevertheless.

It was a beautiful 8 years, filled with negative bi-annual cat scans. Every year was one year closer to being "cured'. Cured, verb; the word we use when one is free from disease without the chance of it coming back. Pretty nifty, I define words now. Pretty amazing what a mother of two, cuddled and crammed in her own king-sized bed with her restless-legged daughter unknowingly kicking her {literally}, can manage to do. Hoping now my 2-year-old son doesn't awake because then this blogging party is definitely over. Let me not even put that into the universe.

Either way, it was a beautiful 8 years, and like most beautiful things, the phone call came. Leukemia, noun. One word that could stop any humane person's heart. The C-word, again. How do you even begin to process that after he wad

‘cured‘ once already? So there I stood, 8 years further into my nursing career than I previously was, knowing all that I knew, back to square one.

It's been a rocky two years, but the man that made me, my daddy, is still here. So what now? What do you do, now, at 37, when someone once again threatens that. How do you cope when a doctor has now put a ticking clock in that man's back pocket on the way out of their waiting room door? It has not been easy. Understanding and processing grief is different for everyone. We all live extraordinary lives with unique thought processes. But either way, I knew, as a nurse, life coach, and mentor, I needed to understand grief in order to guide, God willing, the few of you. So after laying in bed, after hours of lecture, the words and directions were imprinted into my brain. The certification had been granted. I now know "how to grieve." So where does that leave me on the day after Thanksgiving knowing how sick my dad is now? I do not know. I genuinely do not.

No one ever wants to talk about this kind of morbid stuff, I know. But sometimes, you have to. Putting things on paper has always been an outlet for me. Somehow rereading the words on the pages, I just wrote makes me feel "better," sort of speak.

So back to the man that made you. What is he like? What role does he play in your life? When was the last time you called him? Have you never even met him? All the hard questions that may or may not pertain to us. Your daddy. Something made me wake up this morning and write this, so maybe this was something you needed to hear. Think about who your daddy is, the man that made you, whether you've met them or not. Close your eyes and think about them, mentally channeling to them all of the things you may have forgotten or never got the real chance to say. Close your eyes and say it to them. Let your words transmit as sound waves into the universe. Hold nothing back. The man that made you. Tell him who he is to you & if you had never realized till now, or still don't know, seek it out, & tell him.

And if, like so many, you have a severed, lost, or lacking relationship with one of “your makers,” this is where you can heal. This is where we dig deep to your core to unleash all of the pent-up emotions you have held on to for too long, all of the baggage you have carried. There is a reason you are still reading this article. If there wasn't, you would have clicked off of me a long time ago. Heal. Together let us seek and find your inner child and your inner peace, releasing & letting go of all the thoughts that no longer serve you and your purpose here on Earth. This is where we drop your bags; cut off your cement blocks and we swim.

And for the 'lucky ones', I am sorry if those felt like run-on sentences. You are blessed and you are fortunate, You are able to physically communicate with your "daddy," So please, go.Do it. Do not stop, do not pass, go, don't collect those two hundred dollars. For one day, you will think back to this blog, whether you remember my name or not, and be grateful. Grateful you were reminded of this sacred opportunity, & you will feel blessed to have gotten 'that moment'.

Realizing who people are to us opens us up and allows us to love that person that much more. So as my two-year-old screams like the house is ablaze, I will leave you with that. Tell the man that made you all you never thought to say.



Christine Poccia, RN

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