Trying to keep my head above water. Trying to keep a cheerful face. Trying to be okay.
But I am slipping here. At the very least, I am not lying. If you ask if I am okay, you get the answer. No. I'm not. I'm not okay. But I am okay with not being okay, okay?
My father is in ICU again. This time he was lying on his floor for 2 days before he was found. And although he does this to himself with his poor choices, my heart breaks at the thought of my once very strong father lying on the floor because he lacks the strength to even push up on his forearms and press his lifeline button around his neck.
He has pressure sores on his face and chest. His is on a ventilator again. My heart simply hurts. I pity him, I am angry at him. I love him.
I am already grieving I guess. He's already gone. And the hardest part for me is knowing I can never have what I have always longed for. While he was alive and lucid, I had hope. But now I know he's not even the man I used to know, let alone somebody who could be what I need. Alot of this hurt is knowing the inevitable is coming.
The phone call. The open sky and smell of dirt. The songs sung, the words said. The end. Both parents, gone. All before I am 35.
Yeah, I know, lots of people have it worse. I tell myself this all the time. I do. But that is cold comfort when it's actually YOUR LIFE you are dealing with. Maybe I am not as well adjusted as I should be. Big fucking deal. I can only do what I can do. I can only deal my way.
So now its another waiting game. They will clean him up, get him detoxed, get him well, and send him home. And he'll be back again, until the end.
There are a few things I know about my father for certain- he is a good man, if a bad father. He has a sense of humor that is crude and obnoxious, something he passed directly to me. He is quiet and reserved. He could grow an amazing garden without even thinking much about it. He was rarely angry with me, and never yelled. He was always kind to my friends. He told me he loved me everyday. On cold mornings he would start my car for me, and clean off my windshield.
I miss him. I love him. I wish I could spend one day with the man he used to be when he wasn't drinking. One day of fishing, camping, standing in the hot sun. One day of the comfortable silence that would stretch between us. Just he and I and the water.
I think of him now, surrounded by strangers in a hospital bed. Lost in his own mind, swimming under sedation. Unable to speak for the vent. Not able to move without pain. Weak. Hurting.
I think of him back then, teaching me to swim. His dark hair rising above him as he dove down after me in the water. His arm around my waist, dragging me up into the light.
I wonder what he thought of while on the floor for those days. My heart just hurts. But I have my own daughter, my own life, my own family that I have to be strong for.
I just wish, in one way or another, for it to be over. For his sake, if not for my own.
I Love you, Daddy.
