At the risk of sounding like the President of the Metro Dad fan club (which I totally would be if he ever needs one), I am directing you to his annual letter to his dear friend, Andy, who died in the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001:

I still can’t believe it’s been seven years.

I think it’s partly because, out of the past seven years, this one feels like the longest. We lost Sofia’s dad this year after a long battle with cancer. We spent the entire summer going back and forth to make more memories with him. The proximity to his death always made me think of you.

I would have loved to have made more memories with you. All I have are the ones from our time together.

Read the rest.

One of my favorite people and writers, Metro Dad, lost his beloved father-in-law to cancer today.

You must read Pierre’s beautiful tribute.

My condolences to the family.

One of my favorite bloggers in the entire world, Metro Dad, writes eloquently about receiving the news of his father in law’s cancer diagnosis:

Immediately as you walk in, your co-worker runs up to you. “Call your wife. It’s an emergency.”

In the seconds that it takes for you to dial her number, your mind races. Since your wife is the one calling, you assume that nothing bad has happened to her. What else would constitute an emergency? Has something happened to your daughter? Your heart is racing.

When your wife answers, all you hear are the anguished sounds of her sobbing uncontrollably. Between choking sobs and gulps of air, you hear only isolated words. Father. Liver cancer. Inoperable. Tumor. 8 cm.

Your gut wrenches. A sickening feeling falls into the pit of your stomach. For some strange reason, you’re reminded of that tragic morning of 9/11. Another beautiful day that started out with so much promise yet ended with so much pain.

While I don’t pretend to know what his wife and he feel like, I have gotten that news, too and it was like being lunched in the gut. Seriously, there is a reason the word “gut” shows up in this scenario when most anyone describes it.

There are so many emotions, so much information to process and instant growing up to do. You feel like things will be in upheaval for the rest of your life.

But, the one thing I want people to know about it is that you’re not alone when a parent gets a terminal diagnosis. It’s very very sad, and though you’ll never be the same, it won’t always be chaos and worry. Things will settle down in their own way eventually and there will be a bit of a new normal for a while.

And you know what?

It sucks. Plain and simple. It just sucks.

But, like I do from time to time around here, I just want people in this situation to know that they’re not alone. There’s lots of us out here who “get it” when you are told that a parent is going to die.