Fight Through It

It took a solid 24 hours to realize something dad said scared me.

What the hell is happening to me?

Seven words.

Maybe it is because it happened towards the end of my visit during that moment where I realized this could be the last time I see him.

My gut says no, we are not at that point yet but the rational, non emotional part says I can’t be certain because people don’t come with clocks.

What the hell is happening to me?

I shrugged my shoulders and told him he has to fight through this part and he nodded his head.

It wasn’t until later that I realized I saw a different sort of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. It came along with grunts of pain.

“Do you want me to ask the nurse to get you some kind of pain pill?”

“Not yet.”

What Is And What Isn’t

I keep listening to different songs while I think about all that is going on.

There is a voice inside that keeps talking to me about what is and what isn’t. It is guiding me down whatever path I am on.

Someone tells me I am not grouchy, I am short tempered and volatile.

I look at them and say “my father is dying and I am watching it happen. You may think you get it, but you don’t. Not really.”

It’s not their fault and I don’t blame them for their good fortune because I have been in that position.

I was one of the lucky ones for a long time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be that guy again or that I think it is impossible.

He may have shown me his fear, but I also saw his will.

The steel isn’t gone yet.


I feel like I am running.

The music plays and I do my best to keep up on the treadmill but I am not there yet.

Lack of sleep has made this particular Thursday particularly difficult.

Inside my head I picture a wall that I keep slamming into over and over.

I keep trying to tear it down with my bare hands.

Keep crashing into it promising it will break before I do.

“I will not accept any less than your best on this.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

I hit it again and I feel it shudder more than before or is that me.

I am not sure.

Just Another Facebook Moment

I put together another goofy Facebook video. Another 30 seconds of me telling a silly story and the punchline got cut off.

This was supposed to end with a comment saying something like, “if you watch these every time they are posted we ought to get coffee or a ketchup sandwich.”

An hour ago I was almost ready to fall asleep and two cuts from the Rocky soundtrack came on and that screwed up going to bed early.

It woke me up.

I did a few more things around the house and wondered if I screwed up by not playing them for dad.

It is not his thing and I wouldn’t be surprised if he just shook his head, but maybe not.

Stranger things have happened, maybe he would have told me to bring the walker over.


If you want to see a teenage girl turn three shades of white have her father turn on the Rocky music or theme from the Avengers and watch him engage in some spontaneous parkour.


I shared that quote about the ocean with dad and told him if I held onto my back I could pull him wherever he needs to go.

Not so long before his grandson managed to pull me off of my feet and walked for a bit carrying my full weight.

I laughed and told that young man the day hasn’t come yet when I am so easily handled and I reversed things.

Later on during our discussion of differences I told him I could carry him and his grandfather if I had to.

I meant it and I could do it, but not like I once could.

This aging thing isn’t easy.

And as I thought about it I wondered if the idea of having his kid carry him around irritates dad as much as it does me.

There is a certain amount of amusement in the knowledge that this young person who you remember as a baby is capable of doing so much now and then there is the need to feel the ground beneath our own feet.

Another song plays and I know it is time to walk away from the table and attend to other things.

Some things are so close and yet so far away.

Won’t get any closer without work, might as well get back to it ‘cuz I may not have another 60 years to do it all.

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