I found him on the kitchen floor. Curled like a baby. When he smiled at me I thought for a moment, just one moment, that he saw me. Then he said, “Doris?”
I find it hard to cope.
When Mum passed Dad expected everything from me. It got mixed up. Now I’m mixed up. In his world he talks to Mum all the time. But when he’s talking, he’s talking to me.
I found his meds.
The special numbered box I bought. Beeping on the counter. Reminding. Dad forgets. Forgets his life. The people. Me. I brought round Paul. I thought it would help him remember. The speach he made. Father of the bride. I cried. He told Paul to stop bothering me.
I foundered.
Technology can’t help me. I can’t Skype him better. Text him better. Facebook friend him. I can only come in once a week. Do his laundry. Grocery shopping. My Gracie is four and Dad needs tending just like her. At least they’re both toilet trained.
I found a nursing home.
A stranger can be Doris. A stranger can hear about Grand Canaria. How they jived beneath the open sky, drinking sangria like their dreams depended on it. Can I give my Dad away the way he did on my wedding day?
I miss you Daddy.
Will I have to say goodbye before you say hello
To me?
*****
Read previous: Father
Read Next: Granddaughter
You’re a writer because there’s something desperately wrong with you…Something is wrong that can’t ever be fixed, it can’t be drunk away or fucked out of you.
Hilarious article suggesting what MFA programmes should really be teaching to prepare would be writers for their future.
Seeking moment of rest/comfort/peace in midst of hellish war of life. A hot cup of coffee. A damn sandwich. A kind word in passing. Any-fucking-thing. Nights or weekends. Weekdays fine too. Apply within immediately.
Bored at work? Find entertainment at:
Good writing. Good reading.
People freaked out when we started using biological components in computers. I admit it. I did, too. The pulsing organs, feeding the damn things, the occasional organic waste… Gross. But these living computers have an advantage over the old silicon heaps: fear for their lives. These things really perform with a knife to the throat.
Why are you bothering my wife?
The man next door won’t keep his eyes off her, hands off her. Every time she steps outside to hang up the washing I see it. He thinks I don’t see it. But I do. He thinks I’m stupid because of the classes.
Why do I need to learn the computer?
The teacher from Age Concern wants to get us oldies up to speed. It’s all about speed these days. I’m in no hurry. That bothers her. And no matter how many times she repeats repeats repeats her instructions I cannot remember them. Something about staying in touch. I don’t want to stay in touch. The man next door is touchy enough.
Is that why you gave me a pocket phone?
The regular phone service works just fine. I pick up and hear a dial tone. The nice lady tells me to hang up. Only the ringer is broken. I know because it never rings. I know. Speaking of which
What is that beep beep beep beep?
Sounds like a travel alarm. The one we take to Grand Canaria. It’s a reminder. Of what is was like to be a teenager. Fist fighting John to keep Doris. Your mother. She thinks she’s faded. But to me she’s a springtime flower, opening new year after year. Hospitals are full of beeps. And medication. It is a reminder?
Doris. Why are you looking at me like that?
Why am I down so low when you are up high?
************
Next: Daughter
I deleted 49 posts from hazardofbath today.
It just goes to show there can be as much joy in destruction as in creation.
Fresh start from here :D
Like Newton
We have seen further
Because we are standing
On the shoulders
Of Giantesses