Monday, January 12, 2009

Father

I am avoiding my father.

I love him. But I am avoiding him. And I am avoiding him when he needs me most.

I am not picking up the phone. I am not calling back. I am calling when I have the energy only. When it crosses my mind and I have need to be once again reminded of the actuality that my father needs me. And that I cannot allow myself to need him.

He was always remarkably strong. An amazing physical presence. Larger than life in personality and knowledge and commitment and duty.

But I am cowardly now that he is fading. He is exhausted caring for Mom every day.

His vision has all but failed him now. He sets things out so he might find them. Because it is difficult for him to find them. And Mother does what she does to remain oriented; she puts them away... albeit not where they belong or will be found easily by the blind man who cares for her.

"It is like caring for an infant now," he says. "Every day I have to remind her of so many things. And she has a real need to go places. She can't stay still. She can't stay in the house. She's always got to be going, going, going."

It is a perpetual scavenger hunt, really. He puts it on the counter to thaw for dinner. She puts it "away." He asks her about it. She does not recollect. He presses her on it and she becomes angry. He finds it days later in a dresser drawer for the smell.

This woman was so bright. Brighter than most any. And Dad was so strong. Stronger than most any.

But I cannot call when I should call. I cannot answer when I should. I am sad. I am sad. I am sad.

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