Morning on September 12. It’s been a glorious few days in our area while those in the southeast continue to suffer with hurricanes. I can’t stop watching and tearing up. Two years ago, last year, I was used to morning tears from you. Now, I tear up from our insane president and the suffering of others. I am so grateful that you aren’t here to suffer along with us in this horrific era of Trump.
There’s good news on one front, after a chaotic week of welcome Hospice, his new routine is peaceful and nurturing. I could write a new version of Thornton Wilder’s, The Skin of Our Teeth, from just last Thursday morning when it felt like the sky was falling in on us: the toilet broke, his dog got loose, the new caregiver forgot to given him his meds, a truck arrived with a new hospital bed, oxygen tanks, supplies, two representatives from Hospice arrived one after the other and I was repeating details of my dad’s life and just watching him trying to make sense of the dramatic changes in his life as he moves into the chapter that everyone dreads, when you dramatically lose control of your life.
We needed longer sheets. I raced upstairs to our linen closet. No one lives up there anymore and everything is faded: my parents’ bedroom, my brothers’ bedroom, my bedroom are now just lifeless rooms. I spent a few minutes in mine, remembering the life i lived in it. Soon I won’t have the option to visit. We are all in my dad’s last chapter. Soon we will be orphans….
But for now, I have the luxury of talking with my dad in an instant. I have the luxury of sitting across from him in his new hospital bed and chatting. He’s still with us. He still knows us. He’s not in pain… He’s 96 and spending his days in his home with CNN and family close.
I’m still lucky…