January 16, 2010 - acute care

Dear Dad,

Yesterday was Saturday, the day you were moved from your room in the Rehab center to the room in Health/Acute Care.

We moved your personal items, while the center had to call an ambulance to take you across the campus, your condition was too extreme to stay where you were, and you could not go by wheelchair.

After the move, Marsha and I walked into your room, another semi private room, you are next to the window.

It is like you are not really here.

Just a shell of a body, sleeping (?), labored breathing, the "rattle" is so incredibly disturbing when you breathe, I am not sure how visitors would take it.  Your color has changed, perhaps it is the labored breathing, you were flushed in your face, but your legs and hands are starting to feel cool.

The nursing staff were very nice, very compassionate.  I am glad you are here, even if you don't realize where you are.  They appear to be concerned not only with your healthy, but your dignity.

Marion (your wife), Marsha, and I talked about the funeral today.  I picked up several boxes of pictures to put together a DVD to show at the funeral.

It is easier now.

I lost my feelings somewhere, and I can't find them anymore.

None of this seems to bother me.  It is just a job that needs to be done.  I can't really understand when people ask how I am doing, I feel like screaming at them and asking, "How do you think I am doing? My father is dying, and none of us were ready, and his personal business was a wreck!"

But I just say, "I'm okay."

It's just a job.

I don't remember when it started, I don't know when it will end, but in the mean time, we keep walking in circles, running in the dark, and hoping we find moments worth remembering in this starless midnight hour.

I plan to write something for you and read it/speak at your funeral.  I want people to enjoy a few memories of you, I want them to see the Army Sarge that was "abused" by his terrorist sons (you were such an easy target for practical jokes), the strict disciplinarian that became a man of mercy, the immovable rock whose faith could never be questioned, the regular guy that was happy with simple things, the educated man that loved learning, the frustrated musician.  This is who you are.

I hope as I write, the feelings will come back, and Spring will return.

Right now, it feels like Winter.

It's cold out here, and I am waiting on a ride that may not arrive.