It’s been a heckuva week. I’ve been struggling with a blog entry, because my heart is so sad. The visit from my parents over the holidays was very nice, but each time I leave my dad, I cry. Not exactly when he’s leaving. But in the moments after, the days after, and the weeks after.
I don’t know how to describe this. It’s like I’m seeing his light grow dim. As if every time I see him there’s a little less of him there.
I get furious. My dad doesn’t deserve this. My dad was a superman in his time. He was a good husband to my mom. He took care of his dying mother. He was a wonderful dad to us kids. Dad could do anything and do it well, fix anything, make any trouble go away. He was feisty. He was smart, artistic, and talented. He had his faults, and we usually (lovingly) thought he was a little goofy. But he doesn’t deserve this.
I want to yell and scream and weep. But more than that I want to make him smile or laugh. To see that spark again. To engage him again in something, rather than having him just watch from a distance. To break him out of that shell of sadness that I know he feels as he declines cognitively.
I guess that’s wanting something that’s impossible. So I tell myself to just get on with it, deal with it, and move ahead to find ways to help my mother. But some days, like today, I can’t push aside my own grief. Selfish grief or not, it’s there.
Here’s a positive thing – I love my dad. Always have. Always will. So I guess we’ll get through this. With or without tears.