That’s how long it’s been. Almost. Almost a year. Almost a year since my dad fell, hitting his head on the garage floor and sending himself into the long goodnight. The date sticks in my brain as i look at the calender, already full of birthday and christmas and new years and year -end tastks to be taken care of for the farm. Work has been a complete and utter zoo… not surprising, since it does it to me every year at this time. I wish I worked in a job that didn’t have its’ busiest time at the same time as harvest and holidays. I used to enjoy the holidays, birthdays. Decorating the house… baking cookies… making candy… getting everything special. Now between work and the farm it is all so hurried and shortened that I feel I have no time for actual enjoyment.
Now, besides all the rest… I have dad. Mom is lonely, I know. I try to see her when I can, but it isn’t enough… never enough. Was never enough when dad was alive and is certainly not enough now. I feel the weight of her guilt trips with every email I receive. I hear it in her voice when she speaks to me. Yes, he was a bastard… yes, however, she loved him and misses him. Thank goodness she has a dog. Without the dog she’d be lost. Some days I feel she loves the dog more than me. The dog is there more than I am.
I want to go back and have him alive again. I want to be able to somehow get through his last months or years of fog -of depression. To tell him how he’s wasting it all. His wife loves him. His daughter? His daughter could, given the right circumstances. I think. I hope.
Give me the strength to get through the next few weeks. It will be hard. We’re almost there. Almost to the date when he fell… the 11th. After that? Things became a blur… for a few weeks. Until it stopped. Until it ended. Until I ended it. Me. My decision. Yes, they went along, but it was my decision to move him to hospice. My decision to take him off the feedings. My decision to let him go. Almost.