I didn’t fight for him. I didn’t even try. When I called his oncology doctor and left a message, I heard back from a nurse and got no information. And further, the nurse said tzxhat the doctor doesn’t speak with family of patients and wouldn’t be calling me back. I should have taken my rage at that obviously fucked response and done something, whether it be forcing him to talk to me, or finding another oncologist. But I didn’t. I just receded into myself and did nothing. Every single day I drove to the hospital over and over again, I’d pull over and cry before I got there. But I was so paralyzed by my fear about what was happening that I didn’t turn it into action. I just asked for a nicer chair in the hospital room so I could hang out for hours on end with my dad as he died. He would have done everything in his power to help me, and for some reason I was such a scared little shit that I didn’t think to become the caretaker of my dad, who was always my caretaker. He needed me and I failed him.