I always have to deal

My dad has prostate cancer.

He got the official diagnosis today, but I have been preparing for the news since he first mentioned some potential trouble. I mean his dad also had prostate cancer, so I just assumed ...

Dad told me and my little sister that he wasn't going to die tomorrow or the next day or anytime soon. But I don't like anything that reminds me of the mortality of my dad. He is a wonderful father and my chief chauffeur. He does things that I know he doesn't want to do just because I ask him to. For some reason, a lot of these things have to do with animals.

I told my mom last night that I knew we would deal with whatever happens because that is what our family does. But, I said, it makes me mad that we don't have a choice in the matter. We have to accept and deal with things. Just once, I want to be able to say, "Thanks, but you know what, I really don't want to have that anvil dropped on my head."

I guess it doesn't work that way, though. You can refuse to deal with something; lord knows I am Cleopatra's consort in many things. But denial is really not much help; eventually, you just have to go on. What other option do we have?

So we deal with it, whether it is anvils or prostate cancer or Freidriech's ataxia.