Spring

They've said he's got 6-12 weeks to live. That was last week.

I'm going back out there end of this month.

It's been hard. Really hard. Verge of tears constantly. Not finding any connection in AA meetings, not picked up a regular sponsor. I'm not interested in drinking - thank god I've been relieved of the craving to drink - but I often wish I had something to take away the pain. I started back on melatonin to get sleepy at night and to sleep the night. And, since I ended "Six Feet Under" I'm now on "Deadwood." I guess those are my "drugs" these days.

I bought a couch - finally. After living in this grown-up's apartment with a bare living room for a year. It should make it here in time for me to need the cozy, curl-up comfort. I've already bought a standing lamp for it and am eyeing some rugs and a matching chair. I like this apartment and the building. I'm looking forward to biking around (bought an air pump and plan to visit a pally who can tweak the gears so they're aligned correctly), and taking walks in the Glover Park forest.

Some days I wish he'd die to relieve himself of the pain and discomfort, but he's got more living to do. It seems some of us die more quickly in the body and slower in the mind, and others (like my grandmother) die more quickly in the mind with the body slowly catching up. My grandfather had the best way out: a heart attack. No lingering long bedside medications, no mirror to see the tufts of hair go, no added surgery or chemo or radiation to give 10% of a chance at one extra week, no dementia to forget who you are or where you are or how to dress, no creaky hips, no broken nothing.

I can't fathom what it will be like without my dad in my life. I don't want to have to whisper to a ghost when I have questions about mechanics, need analysis relayed from Consumer Reports, need a dad hug or hear his pride.