INKY, MY DAD & ME Kym Motley
The following is an excerpt from Motley’s memoir, Inky, My Dad & Me: A Guide to Living While Dying for Friends & Caregivers. It has been edited for length and clarity.
My dad used to tell this joke about a guy who was lost and called a friend for directions. He said, “I’m at the corner of Walk and Don’t Walk.” Obviously, the guy didn’t look up to read the name of the streets, just the traffic signal in front of him. When I think about why I wanted to write this book, this joke came to mind. Several friends have asked me for advice regarding their dying loved ones, and all of them started at this intersection. “Walk and Don’t Walk” could be the corner of chemo and hospice, denial and acceptance, or any other combination of circumstances and mixed emotions.
Motley, with her father Rowe.
A couple of months before my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, my beloved black, Burmese kitty, Inky, was diagnosed with cancer. This came as a complete shock. Unlike my asthmatic, orange tabby cat, Stinky, Inky was never sick. Through his diagnosis, treatment, and ultimate passing, Inky was my teacher. I had the displeasure of losing Inky and my dad within six months of each other; however, Inky showed me how to be fully present and loving for my dad as he walked with death. My father’s third bout with cancer brought with it a dark cloud of despair. His first two battles were of the Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma variety, and they came with an 80% chance of recovery. Determined to beat the disease, my dad fought the first two rounds and won. Despite his victory, he said, “If the cancer comes back, I’m not doing chemo. It’s like going to hell and back.” I knew he meant it. He also said he spent his time waiting for the other shoe to drop. I tried not to think about it, but the shoe dropped
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