My Dad Hangs By A Thread

Now on top of congestive heart failure, a broken hip, high blood pressure, my dad has pneumonia. The doctor called us last night at 2:00 am because it looked so bad, but strangely, he pulled away from the brink once more and is still alive today. I visited him this morning but there's not much "there" there, so to speak. It's been a bad day.

I've seen this before. Towards the end of my mom's life (in 1997), I saw her raging around in her unfortunate, cumbersome and useless body, trying to free her soul and take the big trip. Now to watch my dad knocking over his stall, like an angry hobbled horse, same game, other parent, is so hard. I'm not getting better at it.

Like people who've stayed too long in a rented summer cottage at the beach, they must pack now quickly and leave the body behind, only the soul may go. They have had their fun and suddenly, on a chilly September morning, they hastily tear down the sheer gauze curtains they brought with them in May. And think how translucent the soul must be after so many delightful afternoons of bleaching summer sun.