Old

4-20-12


I have not cried.

The emotion of it all hit be briefly as Ken and I walked from my dad’s bedside in the hospital. Ken asked me if I was ok and put his arm around me. I felt the tears well up in me, yet I suppressed them quickly since in a matter of moments we would be back with my mom and the boys who were in the waiting room. I wasn’t about to do that to any of them.

When I saw him in his bed, you could see just how ravaging 15 less pounds are when they come off in such a short amount of time. His eyes were sunken in, his voice low and scratchy, and it drummed up images that I had seen way too recently.

Our neighbor, Mike, looked way to eerily similar. Both Mike and my dad are bald with the easily tanned skin. What makes it even more terrifying is that they are the same age. In fact, just shy of an exact year apart, with Mike having been born Sept 13 1944 and my dad September 9, 1945. Mike, who’s funeral is tomorrow. I worried that I was seeing the last coherent days of my dad.



This is Mike


I know this is overly dramatic, but this is the thought that flashed in my mind. I know he will be ok. It must just be one of those nasty flu bugs that tends to hit older folks a little harder. Older. That word hits me like a sack of bricks. That means my dad is in that group of people. Sure, he was always my ol’ man when my mom spoke to him, but to me, my dad has never been ‘old’.

The frailty of his hand when I gripped it at one point was certainly hard to accept. I was especially frustrated, though, at how thrown I was that I honestly didn’t know what to say to him. I talked a bit, trying to be somewhat clinical, but I think I came across as cold. I asked him about stool samples and catheters and mentioned that he should see about sleeping meds. I suppose this is better since he isn’t dying, right? He is just sick and he will get better.

Fuck, I hate this.

Thankfully today I think I will be pretty distracted. It is the Health Fair at work which means lots of time bullshitting at booths about how to get healthy and maybe even a massage if those good people are back. Then I have the Zumba workout that is 45 minutes where I can’t possibly dedicate any of my mind to what is going on at the hospital. After that, though, I am going to go home.

After we pick up the boys, we are going to go to the hospital. I am guessing my dad will be there through the weekend. He needs to get fully hydrated, and be able to stay hydrated without using a bag of prepped fluids. They also need to get this crippling diarrhea under control.

I dressed today for being able to just exercise. It isn’t ideal, but it is all I have that will hold some of my skin flaps down. Plus, I don’t want to wear my stretchy pants since they are now to big in terms of support. I considered no makeup, but I had to add some paint just so I felt like me.

I wore one of my favorite necklaces today, too. It is a little bird that opens up. I have put a worrier doll in there. Maybe my little doll can hold on to my fears for me today.

Fuck. I just read that the health fair doesn’t actually start until 11. That means I still have to keep busy from now until 10:30.

A fun and positive note to yesterday; the boys declared me a rock star. The both rambled on about how I have rock star boots, shirts and even hair. They were not saying it in a goofy way. They truly think of me as a rock star, which honestly, makes me one.

I am guessing tomorrow will be a strange combo of activities. In the morning, we are going to go help with a large soccer tournament. After that, Mike’s funeral happens at 11. In the evening, we have tickets to the Chivas game. Thank goodness we can sleep in Sunday. Hell, we can sleep in tomorrow if need be.

I need a drink.