The passing of a year is a revelation of varying degrees. Sometimes we look back and wonder what the hell we did for 365 days. Sometimes we sit back and marvel at a dizzying list of events and accomplishments. Most years are between the two extremes, allowing us to beat ourselves up while patting ourselves on the back. So you thought you couldn't tap yourself on the head while rubbing your stomach.
I made a bit of a hasty retreat from my Dad's yesterday and am paying for it today through my heart, gut and bowels. Medical research may be up to its eyeballs in diseases to treat, but they really should turn their attention towards guilt. A pill to counteract its effects, while giving the pharmaceutical industry a whopping case of reflux, might eliminate the need for antacids and proton pump inhibitors. Isn't the general idea to feel better and to feel better about ourselves? Guilt may be making me delusional, but I really think I'm on to something.
My father's cancer seems to be sending in more troops to increase his pain. How long the present barrage will continue I have no way of knowing. I do know that he is a far cry from the man raking the leaves of 2008 in his "Go to Hell" hat. ( The origin of that term is my father's own brain; there's more where that came from. ) He spends most of his time dozing in his black leather Lazy-Boy. "I've got to get the oil changed on this chair. I've put a lot of miles on it." In between the bouts of crying and moaning, he can still make me laugh.
He can piss me off too, and when he does, it doesn't take long for guilt to set in. I momentarily forget his condition and sound off like a 13 year old. Where's that puppy when you need to kick one?
Unfortunately, I have to end this post prematurely. My father's neighbor just called and told me I should come back right away. He had come over to put Dad's garbage out and found him in bad enough condition to call hospice and feels that a trip to the hospital might be inevitable.
It's a good thing I hadn't unpacked yet.