Home at last! Phone calls to family. Emails to friends. Get well cards, and calls. Flowers and chocolate. Jimmy’s cooking. CocoBean. More sleeping. When will this pain go away?
Pain has become the thing that doesn’t kill me. Dad has gone into hospice program at his “rehab” center. Which is really a nursing home, where they are gradually getting him into more and more comfort care as his condition worsens. This has been met by my family with varying degrees of denial and hostility. But it gets worse.
I’m hurting. I’m out of it. And I’m beginning to get the thinly veiled message that “what if” something happens to Dad. The what if is just the question that has been on my mind for a few months now. How the hell is he still living! He has deteriorated to the point where he can hardly hold himself up, loses weight as in failure to thrive, yet he keeps going.
And I’m supposed to ignore my own debilitation and say Whoopee I’ll just fly right on down and get with ya’ll sweetie-pies ’cause you’re just such an important and vital part of my recovery!
No, I honestly tried to explain that I was unable to even make such an answer. This is common with me. Sometimes I’m asked a question when there is no answer. Such as “why?” “what do you mean?” Or just that combined with complete silence. Eventually I’m gonna say something wrong. I’m gonna cause agitation. I’m gonna cause a reprimand.
When I was a little kid, I was afraid of people. Older people. I always felt that I was going to do something wrong and be “yelled” at. That does not leave. Oh, kid in me. Get over it. Don’t be so sensitive. What is wrong with you?
So I may be wronger, but I’m still alive.