Yesterday a dear friend and I were discussing how convincingly folks rattle off speculation as truth, and how, without some thought, easy it is to believe them. One of my father’s favorite truths was that once you start going to the doctor, they’ve got you. You’re whole life thereafter will be nothing but a series of drugs, and treatments, and trials over which you will have no control until they refuse your insurance, break you financially, and finally leave you living under the viaduct.

This truth was so profoundly and emphatically expressed that when my sister and I heard my leukemia diagnosis one of the first things we said was, “For the first time, I’m relieved Dad is dead.” It shook us right out of a two month reverie of grief.

In order to save my life, which in itself is a remarkable question, I’ve had to examine Dad’s lie. Underlying it, of course, is fear. Fear of loss of control. Probably Dad’s greatest fear. Dad didn’t like to lose things. Imagine this: In 35 years of being a milk man, he did not lose a drop of milk to spoilage or damage. Can you fathom this? Not one, not a drop of milk in 35 years. Read more…