For the Things I See and Cannot See

The things I see and cannot see surround me. They are a gift and a curse. Talking to my grandpa, loving him more because he is dying, he tells me about his brother-in-law, Daryl, who has stage 4 lung cancer. 

"It seems like we're healthy, you and I," he says with a hint of sadness in his weary voice. "But like, Daryl, it's something we can't see. These things just happen."

I wrote my grandpa a letter for his birthday. He is turning 76 on January 28th. His gift is insight into the things he cannot see, the love and appreciation I have for him. I finished the assignment before it was assigned. The phone call was just a follow-up.

Daryl is undergoing treatment in Tecate, Mexico and has a 20% chance of survival. In between visits to the hospital, Daryl stays at my grandpa's house in San Diego. My grandpa has never heard of Sonnet 73, but he has been doing our assignment for the last 2 weeks. He has been loving Daryl more because he is dying. 

"Daryl is my favorite brother-in-law. If I could have chosen one, it would have been him," my grandpa tells me, and I wonder if Daryl knows.

"He looks scared," my dad says, recollecting Daryl's expression when he told my dad the severity of his condition. "Well how many stages are there?" he asks. "Five," Daryl replies, the single word punctuating silence. I never saw his face, but it visits me in my sleep. I see his cheeks pale, lips tight and teeth clenched, a slight quiver in his jaw and glossy eyes betraying the stoicism a man should display facing death. I've never seen it, but I see it.

Stage 4 cancer refers to a state characterized by cancer spreading from its origin to other organs in the body. Early detection can prevent the progression, but, like my grandpa says, it's something we can't see. The funny thing about Daryl's situation, however, is that his cancer was visible, but still unseen. He was misdiagnosed and it wasn't until stage 4 that it came into the light.

What does 20% really mean? What purpose does it serve? It's like giving form to something invisible. The form doesn't fool me, though. The numbers do not comfort. His chance of survival is just that, utter chance. He may as well go to the Asklepion and dream. A visual representation is the last thing Daryl needs. Visuals are misleading much like the misdetection of his cancer. What Daryl needs now more than anything is the something he cannot see, the love and support of his family.