Francisco

"My name is Francisco, I have been bound to this Foundation as a potential bone marrow donor for two years now. I would like you to publish this letter in honour of the sick people, especially of my father, who suffered from 3 cancers in 10 years.

I thank you in advance and I want to express how proud I am of belonging to this Foundation.

I would like to go a little bit into the day-to-day of this crazy world; I would like to talk about one part of its society, about its heroes, or about the ones that for me are the heroes of this fanatical, superficial and politicized society, I mean to these people who live and fight against an uncertain future, to these who we call sick people and which is something idiosyncratic of the human being.'

This article is dedicated to one of these heroes, the one who marked me forever.

It has been nearly six months now since he died, with that defiant and sweet face with which he faced his enemy and companion: the cancer, during the last ten years of his life.

Everything stopped being relevant for us since we got into that dark, gloomy room called illness, the world change, we punished ourselves with thoughts and long litanies: ‘this cannot be happening to us, this can only happen to our neighbour on the fourth floor', but the TAC was not wrong, that tumour mass in the lung was a cancer.

Every morning in those ten years he had a smile for us and a furtive and crushing look at his disease. His body was being attacked by those clutches, his look was changing, but he laughed, he encouraged us and, above all, he fought desperately. This is how we got over the first cancer, we celebrated it, we laughed and, of course, we cried. We had managed it! But his companion wanted him to get off the train and came again five years later, this time a prostate one. My hero didn't turn a hair, he was already a veteran warrior, he knew he had to dust off the sword again and fight against it.

Again, really painful tests, very hard treatments, frights, sleepless nights, his life was again hanging by a thread, but he was, as always, happy, cheering us on. We also won this battle, but an immovable concern was created, nearly paranoid, rude and cruel, our only thought was if this nightmare would leave us in peace, if we had managed to defeat it. Physically sick, but without a scratch in his mind and morals, what nice was to be with him, what a great lesson he taught us, what a great teacher, knowing that it was possible to fight from a well, that hope is more than a word and this was being taught to us by someone who was being harassed and bitten by a black wolf, who was aware of the harmlessness of his attacks, as the heart of his opponent was unreachable.

We had a nice year, he tasted the happiness of living, he was fed by the love of his family, by the essential and daily support of his wife, his big refuge against adversity and an inflowing of strength and hope, and mainly and above all his pains, he was crazy about his grandchildren.

But there was she, with the hammer in her hands, this time there was no need for her to send her navy. She had made her loyal adversary so tired that she only needed a small sailing boat; she took his life in such a thin and unexpected way, as only she knows how to do it; she killed our hope at dawn, but his smile was there till the end, she couldn't manage to get it.

These were the last years of my father and of many parents and people who deserve recognition for being brave and who have faced their illness with bravery, nobility and humility; these adjectives are very difficult to notice in people of this century; for a part of this society the word "illness" is a taboo and the sickness of person is a trouble, without realizing that were the light and hope shining their glance.

Thank you dad for everything; thanks for being you."

Francisco

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Find out more about bone marrow donation, HERE

Webpage updated 12/10/2016 15:33:01