Over the past two and a half years, I have religiously watched every video YouTuber Markiplier has uploaded. At the beginning, I was a bit wary of his channel because he is a professional gamer and I wasn’t sure if I would be interested in watching someone else play video games. But after watching the first video, I was hooked and obsessed. I believe that Markiplier is a funny and kind person, who is sincere in every action he takes and it shows in every video he makes. In one video, titled “Draw My Life," which was posted three years ago (I only watched it last year), Mark discusses and literally draws his life story. I learned that his father died from cancer and after hearing Mark’s story I realized how shockingly similar our experiences with cancer are. Both of our fathers were diagnosed with cancer and both died a year later in the same way (in bed at home). I was so surprised and touched by his story that I didn’t have the words to describe what was going through my head. I still don’t. So, when Mark uploaded a new video a few weeks ago titled, “That Dragon, Cancer," I immediately knew I had to watch it, partially because it was another Mark video and partially because I knew that it would be cathartic for me. However, I had to build myself up to watch the video, which took a few weeks, before I was able to last night. Once the two-hour video ended I realized I needed to write something about my experience, about my journey with a father battling cancer. Watching Mark’s video gave me the courage to write this and I sincerely hope it will help other individuals who are going through this journey right now.

My father was diagnosed with stage-four colon cancer in December 2012. My parents found out before me (all I knew was that he had been going to the doctor for some stomach problems) and were waiting for more details before sharing the news with me. I remember the day my mom told me like it was only yesterday; she and I were at the mall one day after school while my dad was at a doctor’s appointment. We had just gotten a Starbucks and were sitting by the fountain in the center of the mall. I remember feeling like something was wrong because my mom seemed…off; she wasn’t her usual crazy, random, spunky self. Before I could ask what was wrong she cleared her throat, looked at me and said, “Julie, dad has cancer”. For the first time in my life, I experienced tunnel vision. All I saw was my mom; everything else got blurry and dark and quiet. I could see my mom’s mouth moving and I knew there was mall commotion all around me but I couldn’t hear a thing. Eventually, my hearing came back; I could hear my mom telling me “we caught it at an early stage, the doctors are hopeful, dad’s going to start chemotherapy”. Except, they didn’t catch it at an early stage—my dad’s cancer was already stage-four, but my parents wanted to protect me. Give me hope. Despite what people may think, I’m not mad at them for not telling me the whole truth right away. I’m actually grateful because I was dealing with a lot of my own personal struggles at the time (college applications, depression, self-harm, graduation). That didn’t stop me from worrying, though; it didn’t stop me from thinking the worst either.

After my mom told me the news we went to pick my dad up from his appointment. They had been running some more tests on him, trying to find the best course of action. I remember how quiet I was—I didn’t say much of anything to my parents in the car. I just asked them if they could drop me off at Abby’s (one of my best friend’s) house. They did and my other friend, Noemie, rushed over. I didn’t even tell them the news yet…that’s what I love about them. I simply texted them, asking them to meet me at Abby’s because it was urgent and they dropped everything and were there for me in a heartbeat. I cried as I told them the news and they comforted me. They said that we were all in this together and that everything would be fine. Only, it wasn’t.

I don’t remember exactly when my dad started his chemotherapy treatments, but I do remember the toll it took on him. I never realized how much damage chemo does to someone; I always thought it was just cancer that made him sick. But, as I soon learned, the chemo was just as damaging as cancer. My dad was sick all the time, throwing up everything he ate. He lost all his hair (my mom helped him shave his head) and he shaved his beard. I had never seen my dad without a beard before so it was definitely a shocking change. But it wasn’t just his different hairstyle that was shocking. My dad was a bigger guy who loved having steak for dinner every night—he loved food and he loved bringing people together through food. So, to see my dad lose all that weight wasn’t shocking. No, it was terrible. To watch someone you love and admire wither away to skin and bones, to watch them become weaker and weaker each day, is horrible.

My dad was scared towards the end. He was scared to leave my mom and me on our own. He wanted to be able to take care of us so the thought of not being able to anymore, well, it terrified him.

On the night of December 14, 2013 (a year after dad was diagnosed) I was at home watching SNL when my mom came running down the steps and into the kitchen. When she ran back to the stairs, I asked her what was wrong. “I think he’s dying,” she told me before dashing away. It took me a moment to process what she said before I vaulted off the couch and followed her. I ran into my parents' bedroom, where my Nana (my mom’s mom) and my mom were standing around my dad. I rushed over to him and took his hand, telling him I loved him over and over. I remember my mom kept saying, “It’s ok. If you need to go, you go”. Looking back at that moment, I feel selfish because all I could think was “no, it’s not ok. You can’t leave us, please don’t leave us”. My dad never got to tell us he loved us one last time—I think he was already gone when we got to the bedroom. He was making this noise, his body releasing his last breath I think, that I will never be able to get out of my head. I was scared for him and I was terrified as I watched the light fade from his eyes. My mom brought me to my room, gave me something to help me sleep and tucked me into bed (I was a zombie from being in shock) as the ambulance came to take my dad. In the morning, I thought it was all a nightmare but I realized the nightmare was actually reality.

There is one nice moment that sticks out in my mind—when my dad gave me tickets to an Imagine Dragons concert. He and I had been obsessed with them for a few years, always singing along to them in the car. My dad bought four tickets (one for him, my mom, myself, and a friend), which he was going to give me for Christmas. When he realized he might not be around for Christmas, 2013, he called me into the bedroom and gave me the tickets. I was so excited and I couldn’t wait to go with him—it hadn’t hit me that he wouldn’t be there with me.

It’s been two and a half years since my dad passed away, but it feels like it happened only a few days ago. I’m 21 now, but I still feel like the 18-year-old who was grasping my dad’s hand and snuggling against him on the couch as he napped after his chemo. Part of me still thinks he’ll come home one day or that he’s only away on one of his long business trips. I felt the same way when I lost my brother. But the other part of me, the part that knows he isn’t coming back, received some closure after watching Mark’s video last night. I’ve allowed myself to accept my dad’s death, to accept my life without him physically by my side and, to my surprise, I don’t feel any anger or sadness. I feel peaceful.

This peaceful feeling is the outcome of watching Mark play “That Dragon, Cancer." The game (based on a real family’s journey through cancer) ends with Joel, the family’s five-year-old son, dying from cancer. But, it’s not sad. Instead, it’s joyful and soothing. We see Joel, in what can be assumed as the afterlife or heaven, sitting in a park with a pug beside him and a ton of pancakes surrounding them. Joel looks in the player’s direction and says, “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you. Look at all the pancakes! I love pancakes!" The screen then goes black, with Joel’s laughter filling your ears. The sight of Joel’s afterlife made me happy because I realized that I can now visualize my dad’s afterlife.

Wherever death brought him, my dad is out there somewhere, relaxing by an exact replica of our lake in Massachusetts. He’s sitting down by the water, with a beer in his hand and my brother by his side. Our late 13-year-old golden retriever, Jonesy, is laying by their feet and all three of them are watching the sky change color and the lake’s reflection as the sun begins to set. A light breeze is blowing, rustling the leaves, and nature is singing her song. I’m pleased to say that, while sitting by the actual lake, I can now take a deep breath and release my sorrow, knowing that my dad is truly at peace.