Today, it's been 4 years since you robbed me of my dad and my kids of their Gramps, whom they will never know outside of the stories they are told. Today is the anniversary of the day you stole a devoted, loving husband from his faithful wife of 35 years. You took a grandfather from two little kids that thought the world of him. The little girl is now 9 and it's been almost half of her life since she saw her Gramps. Will she remember him? The little boy was only 2 at the time and he already remembers Gramps only through stories he is told and pictures he has seen.
Pancreatic Cancer, I hate you. You're the meanest, least forgiving cancer and I wouldn't wish you upon my worst enemy. Only 6% of people diagnosed with you survive more than 5 years and nearly three-fourths of patients die within 1 year. You made quick work of my dad, ripping him from my clutches 4 months to the day after he was diagnosed with you. You're sneaky and relentless. You hide and fail to present with your symptoms until it's too late. In 40 years of research and clinical trials, no cure has been found to eradicate you. No treatment has been found to hold you at bay.
You have forever ruined July 23rd for me. My kids will only ever have memories of one of their grandfathers. I have beautiful memories of my father's father, who died when I was 8 or 9. Knowing him helped me know my father. Helped me understand where he came from and how he became the man that he was. My kids will never have the chance to hear stories about their mommy when she was a little girl from their maternal grandfather. They may never know what they have lost but I will always know. I will always loathe you and blame you for the deficit in their lives. My dad was only 55. Don't tell me everything happens for a reason. There is no justification for taking such a wonderful man away from his family, who adored, admired, and needed him.
Pancreatic Cancer, I hate you.