When I felt frustrated by the constraints which resulted from my cancer, I encountered no pervasive or continual anger. Furthermore, the anger was targeted at the source of my inability to function properly, rather than projecting it toward an innocent companion. Mine was the self-contained anger similar to that which I would feel after entertaining influenza for nearly a week; weary of its limiting effect on my mobility and general well-being, I would hurl devastating thoughts inward, then later proceed to calm my cantankerous spirit and await the arrival of health. My father held a rather negative view of the possibility that good could prevail over evil; he always expected the worst, and often was quite right in his assumptions. Even so, expectation does not cancel one's disappointment at having supposed correctly, and his broken heart was obvious. A touching moment in a movie, a poignant verse of song or the reading of one of my poems was enough to send a tremor through his voice in a later attempt to speak. Often depressed or angry, he was tormented by the many adversities which had befallen our family. It just didn't seem quite right that he should have such difficult burdens after he had lived a morally conscious life; others, lacking all sense of moral responsibility, seemed to live long and healthy lives, or died simply because of their own ignorance and gluttonous indulgences. Hounded by such sources of resentment, acceptance was gained, then lost once again at varying intervals when he viewed the healthy, but empty lives whose health, he thought, should have been my own. Aside from the family, my dad had no confidant or close friend. He, like many members of the family, was quite self-sufficient. Unfortunately, one's self-sufficiency, displayed in grave situations, can discourage closeness, whether consciously or not. Thus, when such an individual truly desires someone to hear his concerns, no one is near enough to care. Even persons with whom one had worked on a daily basis can prove to be unenthused listeners; often their association clearly ends within the confines of the job description. Though not always apparent, my dad was a highly sensitive individual. An injustice or injury persisted, inflicting pain and stress. More than anything I believe my father needed unsolicited affection and demonstrations of sympathy; lacking these, especially from his co-workers, Dad felt himself betrayed by the one group with whom he had spent so much of his time. He could easily have drowned in self-pity, for no one wished to help with the bailing out of his broken heart; sorrow was like a hat which only he could wear.