RAYMOND
GROVE, by Alexander Grove.
I found out my father had a brain tumour when I was eleven years old.
He was an extremely successful, happy, handsome man with three sons. He worked
all over the world as a creative perfumer for companies such as IFF. I only found
out about his cancer by accident, as no one really wanted to broach the subject
with me at such a young age. As it turns out, the tumour had been eating away
at him for five years. After endless operations and chemotherapy, none of which
seemed to work, he gradually began breaking down like a machine with it's parts
going rusty. My overriding memories are little things, like when he held my hand
in his, and couldn't release it because his left arm stopped working. Or when
he wanted to say goodbye to me when I was returning to school, but couldn't as
he suddenly couldn't speak. Seeing the tears of frustration in his eyes was heart-wrenching.
He turned into a shadow of himself and finally died in a hospice in March 1990.
Nowadays, everyone knows someone with cancer, be it a brain tumour or another
form. Cancer Research is vital to stop what is becoming the biggest killer on
the planet.
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