The following blog is written by WEWS Managing Editor Jim Scott sharing his experiences about his father who is dying of cancer.

Jim will provide daily updates.

You may e-mail him your comments.

Previous Blogs: Entry One | Entry Two | Entry Three | Entry Four

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Sometimes I have to remind myself that my Mom is very sick too. She's battling lung cancer, but put off radiation when Dad took a turn for the worse. She tries to be strong, but I know better. Most of our phone conversations end in crying spells. She cries a lot, but I haven't let her hear me breakdown. It's probably not healthy for me to hold all of this in, but she needs me to be the rock and my family needs me too. I'm doing the best I can.

My mom's been more cranky with me lately, but that's okay, she's lost a lot all at once; her home, (I moved them into a senior building,) her car (I took dad's keys) and she's going to lose her husband of sixty years.

Mom's also in lots of physical pain, not so much because of the cancer but her arthritis is so bad that one of her legs is bowed inward and her fingers are so twisted that it hurts to look at them. That leg makes walking difficult.

She should've had the knee replacement years ago, but didn't. Now she's paying the price. And if that's not enough Mom has an aneurysm of the aeorta, (that"s a saclike widening of an artery resulting from weakening of the artery wall) so we're fortunate to have her still with us, let alone able to walk.

Doctors say the surgery to repair the aneurysm is too dangerous, so it's kind of like walking around with a time bomb, never knowing when it's going to go off.

I think that's why Pop wants to get home. He really thinks he has to take care of Momma.

So here I am with a father who is dying and mother who could actually pass away before him. I guess I'm doing OK by them while still doing a pretty darn good job at work. Actually, I try to lose myself in my job. In many ways it's more than anyone should have to bear but I've always believed that God doesn't put more on us than we can handle so I know there's a purpose in all of this.

Pop really threw me for a loop recently. As I sat by his bed thinking he was asleep, he suddenly started talking. With his eyes still closed he said "you know Momma is so happy with how you turned out and she really loves those grandkids and great grandkids." I responded, "Yeah, Pop, I know." He opened his eyes and looked at me curiously and said "I'm not talking about your Momma, I'm talking about my Momma.

His mother Fannie who died more than forty years ago. Some might worry about him talking with the dead, but I've spent time talking to my grandmother since the day she died. I've felt her spirit all these years, in fact have been guided by it. To this day I recall her lessons given to me even at a tender young age, so Pop it's OK. You're going to be with her soon.

He also brought up again my spending money driving back and forth. He hadn't read a newspaper in awhile, but he still knew the price of gasoline was going through the roof so once more he said "tell Momma to give you my credit card and fillup your car." Once again, I said "No, I'll be OK."

It was at that moment that my Dad became emotional. There were tears streaming down his face. I sat on his bed and held him in my arms. I had never done that, nor had I ever seen him cry. He told me he was sorry he was putting me through this.

I tried with every part of my being to tell him I was there because I love him. We cried together that day for what seemed like an eternity. I wiped his face and he fell back asleep.

As I drove home that evening my emotions were all over the place. They'd been on a roller coaster ride for months, and I wasn't sure I had much strength left. Two things happened during the ride. First, my grandmother's voice filled my head. She told me to "straighten up, there's a family that needs you at home."

And then from the opposite end of the spectrum, I heard my Marine Corps drill instructor barking out at me as only he could. "What's the matter Marine?" "Is momma's little darlin upset?" "No Sir drill instructor," I yelled out. Doggone it! Forever a Marine.

We'll talk again soon.

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