November 22, 2010

• I'm pretty sure my father has given up.

  

  Losing his license was the last straw; whatever independence or amusement he had is, if not gone, definitely fading fast. He can't move around enough to enjoy his house or the property he spent his life taking care of, and he won't leave. I don't know what to do.

  For the first time since she died, I was angry at mom for leaving us (as though it was somehow a choice). If she were here she would give dad a swift kick and tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself. The rest of us can't seem to stand up to him the way she did. This weekend I saw some of her things in the closet and all I could think was, "Fuck you! Where are you?" I don't remember being that angry with her in years. That's the thing about mothers, I guess. They're so good at fixing things they get blamed for everything that's broken.

  But all I know is that I am terrified to lose the man who is my dad and would whistle through his teeth and call me Schnooky and whose hands, though they were never that steady (and are less so now), are still three times the size of my own.

  g.

   

   

  • 2:01 pm
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