They seem to be happening more frequently, and he seems a little weaker every time. His appetite is getting smaller and it's evident he's getting tired. I hate that he is spending the last of his time on this earth stuck in a wheelchair or bed, losing his memory and when he does talk, wondering again what's happened to him.
As I sit here next to him on the bed, I want to memorize everything. Every dimple in his not-as-often smiles, every strand of grey hair, every wrinkle on his face.
He's comfortable, and that's what I keep reminding myself. After years of medical issues and of course the last almost two years of chaos for his medical care, he's tired. Tired of doctors and nurses and blood pressure cuffs and insulin finger pricks and shots. He's tired of others giving him a bath and helping him with the bathroom. He's tired of feeling like a prisoner in his own mind. At least that's what he's told us - he can't get as many words out as of late.
So, we sit and chat. It's mostly me asking questions or recounting old stories he's told me, with him chiming in with a "yep" or a few words addition to the story. Anything that helps him feel comfortable. Sometimes it's staring at the ceiling for an hour as we squish in a hospital bed.
We haven't always seen eye to eye and we've had our differences, but at the end of the day he's my dad. If there is anything I've learned from having kids it's that as parents, we just do the best we can. We cheer and support our kids, we make mistakes, we live our lives the best we can. And for every person, that's different. One person's pro is another person's con and we shouldn't judge them on that - we are all just doing the best we can as parents and as children.
For tonight, we are just relazing here in the room we've come to know as "home". He's got a smile on his face and I was so happy to hear him greet me the same way he always has: "Hello there Allison P., the P stands for pretty." <3 div="">3>