Last Saturday my youngest brother got his degree. In a month or two, the youngest of my sisters will get here. Next month my youngest brother is taking his wife for a cruise for their first anniversary. My middle brother has two wonderful kids and a great wife. My older sister is getting her life put together and on track for the first time in three decades. My wife is kicking butt at school and some other great news came up for me this last Sunday.
But last Saturday, I visited Dad briefly before Fullur's graduation party.
He did not make it to the graduation because he was ill. He was only going to purchase one of the two types of insulin he needs because he could not afford the other.
This was something he had hidden from the rest of us until he reached the point he could not get out to purchase it himself and needed it picked up. I can assure you he got them both, but that is beside the point.
It is hard watching him fade like that. It is hard watching him degenerate to where he cannot even make it to the graduation party. It is hard watching him struggle to walk through the house.
It is happening before his time, too. And it is so hard to watch.
Some things I can help with, I can do things for. When the Goose doubts herself about school, sometimes I have the right words to say to encourage her. When there was some internal family strife, I was able to bring peace and make some progress in places I would have sworn they could not be made.
I have been able to get past bad situations in regard to work, a church that has gone in directions that sadden me, my longest lasting friendships becoming casual friendships at best, and more.
But I cannot fix his health. I cannot fix that moment when he and I were discussing how to handle a certain situation and he admitted to wishing he had another option, but his physical status meant he could not do what he needed to do.
It is often said no parent should have to bury their child.
I can tell you from the other side that it is no picnic for the child watching their parent age 5 and 6 years per year, when every month seems to cause a years worth of damage.
It was one thing when Mom went from capable of going places and doing things to being buried in six months, and far too young. It sucked, it was hard, but it was, relatively speaking, so quick that it was manageable.
There are days when this is not. By most standards of measure, it is better for him. And no doubt I am thankful he is still with us. But there are times when it is almost more than I can handle, watching him age.
Sometimes there is really no way to completely say what you have to say, no way to finish or complete a thought. This might be one of those times.
I want him around for years. I pray for a miracle in him recovering his health, but whatever time we have left I pray that we can share as much as possible and that he will be able to make many special occasions that his kids have.
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