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I read all the good and the bad, even though it reduced me to ugly tears at times. Some of it was downright disheartening, but I couldn't live in denial. Being practical was smart. I needed to know. I had to. So I lost myself in article after article until I fell asleep most nights. It bothered me that he couldn't see it from my point of view and respect the fact I was studying up on it. I thought he, more than anyone, would want me to be informed.
His familiar eyes softened. "Your body is already used to this type of strenuous activity, sweetie, and has been for quite some time now. Nothing has changed except for up here," he said and tapped the side of his head.
I bit down on the inside of my lip and chewed it. I leaned back again as tears filled my eyes. "I'm not a mental case." My voice shook. "I'm just nervous."
"I never said you were. You're stressing yourself out when you have everything under control. Don't let yourself fall down a dark hole. It's not healthy."
A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
"You have to keep your head up. Never look at the ground when you're walking. Your dreams, your views, your goals, all your aspirations, they'll come to a standstill because there's nothing to reach for when you're closed off. Instead, look forward with optimism and prospect. The path is wide open for you to take what you want." He paused like he was thinking about his next words. "Sweetheart, there's always going to be a mountain you'll want to move that'll make you question everything in you. You'll ask yourself how you can do it. That's how life works. And right now, you have it a little harder than others because you're surrounded by mountains with no view of the sky. Do me a favor."
I nodded, wiping more tears away and sniffled.
"Don't focus on the struggle of moving them because that's not what it's about it. It's about how much you put in when you decide it's your time. You can't move a mountain, and you certainly don't go around it. You climb that sucker and show yourself what you're capable of."
I burst into uncontrollable tears, my eyes heavy with strain and exhaustion.
Dad got off his chair and kneeled in front of me. He grabbed my hands and forced me to look at him. "Some days you're going to get knocked down. And you know what?"
"What?" I asked, my voice cracking. I attempted to sniffle back the tears but it didn't help.
"That's when you get back up and keep going to show yourself what you can do. I know it might sound impossible right now, but the battle will make it all worth it. One day you'll see."
He reached over to the table and plucked a few tissues from the box and handed them to me.
Between tearful breaths, I said, "I feel like I don't have the proper equipment to climb a jagged mountain in the dark."
I was surprised I came up with a good analogy to match his on the fly.
"You've always had it. You just lost your footing along the way. Look at it like you sprained your ankle."
I smiled through the tears. "Like little tears in my Achilles."
Dad pointed his index finger at me and gave me a look. I sniffled but my sad smile grew. "We get one life, Adrianna. You have to live it to the fullest and not let anything hold you back. I always thought I was until what happened at Easter. That day put things into perspective for me. I changed a lot after it, and very late into my life. I don't want you to have regrets and what-ifs plague you for the rest of your life. Be something now. And do it for you and no one else. Have no fear. Don't rest until you're about to drop."
I inhaled an audible breath, then exhaled the burden of the world I was carrying on my shoulders. A few more tears slipped down my cheeks. Talking to my dad was helping me cope with my thoughts. My chest didn't feel as constricted and I felt hopeful I could possibly take the reins of my life.
It wasn't that I didn't have the confidence, I did, but something shifted in me since I'd been diagnosed. I felt different. I felt like the world viewed me differently, like I was walking around with a stupid label. I felt like my time here had come to an end before I got to experience anything.
I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling and blinked a few times before responding. "My body is going to do what it wants whether I like it or not. On top of that, I've yet to find a match for a donor. That terrifies me and I think what stresses me out the most. What if I never find one?" My jaw trembled as I said it out loud for the first time. "I want it all so bad, Dad, so bad, and I don’t want anything to hold me back. I'm scared knowing I have absolutely no control over that aspect of my life now. None. "
Dad glanced away, trying to hide his face falling, but I caught it. "That fear is normal for every single person in your shoes. Just don't let it scare you into a corner. Control isn't something I let go of so easily either. I'm a work in progress. It's probably a Rossi thing. Your brother is the same way. You'll get there. Just don't give up."
A smile spread across my face. Dad reached for me and pulled me into a hug. The comfort of his fatherly embrace eased my soul.
Maybe everything would be okay. Knowing that no amount of treatment could reverse the damage is what disturbed me daily. Knowing it could only grow worse from here on out is what taunted me.
I needed to find a way to accept that. I just hadn't figured out how yet.
"Am I making a huge mistake postponing the dialysis? Do you think I'm going to make myself sicker? Do you think I'll die sooner because of it?" My heart was frantic in my chest thinking I'd made a huge mistake.
My dad shook his head. "No, I don't think you're going to die because of it, don't ever say that. But you know where I stand on the issue. I'd rather you start treatment now, but after speaking in depth with your doctors, I understand that waiting a few months should be okay. That doesn't mean I don't think about it every day, because I do. I worry all the time, and if I thought for a second waiting would take you from me, then I would've put my foot down and pulled you immediately. You're going to have a lot of hurdles. I want you to have what you want while you can get it." Dad exhaled a heavy breath himself. "You've got this," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've got this, okay?"
I nodded and sniffled again as a knock sounded at the door.
"Who's that?"
Dad stood, his knees cracking. "I invited Konstantin and Katja for a drink."
