CHANTELLE BONOGOFSKI
Opinions Writer
This year has been the worst of my life, yet it has taught me the most.
I write this article not to evoke sympathy, but to acknowledge what will remain as the most profound and pivotal moment of my life. On June 19 of this year I lost one of the most beloved and influential people in my life — my dad, Ken Bonogofski.
My dad taught me more than any other person and more than any class I could ever take. This is his story. He was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2004. In 2006, the cancer returned and we were told he would have only 18 to 24 months to live. Determined to defy statistics, my dad continued to enjoy his life as he did before. In 2007 and 2008 there was more cancer. Then on March 11, 2009 — after an emergency surgery — my mom, my boyfriend and I were told to call the family as the doctors thought my dad would not survive the night.
His bowel obstructed 18 hours before the surgery. The doctors never realized how sick he was until they had to revive him before they started the surgery. They managed to quickly fix the obstruction, but they also found more cancer. They deemed it inoperable and left no more options for us. We believed in our “Superman” and kept vigil overnight at the hospital. My dad survived the night.
It is not my dad’s battle with cancer that had such a powerful effect on me, but the way he dealt with it. He challenged every timeline the doctors gave him and accepted his fate better than we did. I will always consider him a survivor; although cancer took his life, it could not touch his spirit.
For over the next three months my dad had visitors — besides my mom, my boyfriend and myself — every day except for a scant three. He greeted everyone with a smile, didn’t complain about his pain and didn’t indulge in self pitying conversations. He had always been interested in others’ lives and this did not change because he was ill. Just because he was dying did not mean he had no life left.
I was fortunate enough to spend the last months of my dad’s life with him, but when I saw him take his last breath of life I still felt cheated. The questions I tried never to ask surfaced: Why my dad? Why did this have to happen to us? Why are we being punished? But soon afterward, I remembered what my dad told me: “Mouse, you are a tough girl; this isn’t the end of the world. You go on with your life.”
I wish I had a remedy for grief. Change is usually an unwelcome fact of life and how we deal with it can determine how we live our lives. I do not believe grief really goes away, but it becomes more bearable over time. There are people in our lives who are irreplaceable and will never be forgotten.
One thought that brings comfort to me is that I am never alone — somewhere out there someone is feeling the way I am. I am not the only person life has given unfortunate circumstances to. I am blessed to have the love and support of many people, which others do not have.
To end on a light note, I quote Victor Borge, the late musician and humourist: “Laughter is the closest distance between two people.” My dad lived for laughter and making others laugh. He never lost his sense of humour in his darkest moments and therefore his positive spirit will always be with me.
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