I’m in a very weird state in my relationship with my father.
Firstly, we haven’t spent this much time together in my entire life (since my parents divorced when I was 3). Ever. This amount of time together would be weird even if we were all healthy.
Then, throw in the fact he’s dying,
throw in the fact he’s now almost six months past the 2-4 weeks his doctors gave him to live,
and now we’re in this big state of a new awkwardness.
Do we just, go back to normal, since he seems to be hanging on no matter what the doctors say,
but the problem is, we don’t even have a normal to go back to.
What is it with me and father’s bloodline, that could give us so many strange health problems,
yet then give us this almost god like ability to heal and bounce back?
It’s almost like, after thousands of years with this genetic mutation,
something has to work better than normal in order to compensate for what is wrong–
It doesn’t exactly do the greatest job compensating (given how often I have issues), but I’ve always noticed I heal well after surgeries, and things like that.
This might explain why my father can hang on like this, so unexpectedly–some mechanism keeps healing him, even though the overall outlook is doomed.
I’m so homesick now it’s making me physically itchy and twitchy…I’m twitchy it feels so weird to be in Ottawa this long. Almost like I’m suffocating. (Or maybe just scared?)
Every time I think about going back for a week, I think ‘this will be the week he dies’, and I don’t want to be in Los Angeles when that happens. There are a few things have to be done immediately.
Instead, I’m waiting in this bizarre state of morbid anticipation. If my father was a reflective type of person, we could spend this time discussing the past with some intellect and wisdom (isn’t everything always more clear looking back on it from the viewpoint of the present?)
But my father doesn’t even reflect on the daily news, much less anything familial or personal between us.
I think I’m keeping him alive. I think he’s happier than he’s been in years. I think he’s been lonely and miserable for a long time, and this is his first taste of a real support system, having people close by simply because they care–not because he’s paying them–I am here because I care.
I think he’s enjoying every minute. Every ice cream with David, every movie with me.
He’s savoring his last breaths, like a taste of a dream he never knew possible.
And he just doesn’t want to let go.