A subject I haven’t broached much in the past and one that’s become central part of my daily consciousness over the last couple of years: my dad’s decline and dire condition as the weight of ninety-plus years settles upon him. He’s up in a hospital in Evanston fighting his third bout with pneumonia in about four months. That’s just the current crisis. I could run through the full list of conditions besieging him and the disasters and indignities that have grown from them, but I know I’m only discovering what many, many other children of aged parents have already learned. The truth is that the poor guy is dying and beyond the power of science to heal or restore. But he is not beyond the power of love and caring, and the best thing that has happened during the last couple days is that my brothers and sister and I have been together to remember Dad, to talk about what we need to do for him, to talk to him, to let him know we’re here.
That’s all, for now. It’s a lot to take in. I’ll be reporting back. In the meantime, I’m thinking of this line:
“I depart as air–I shake my white locks at the runaway sun.”