Thursday Thinkery

Lobby of John Muir Med Center. Chillin' before the two hour drive home (plus two metro areas' rush hours).

Left my dad's room a moment ago. He wasn't very responsive. Knew who I was and where he was and all that but didn't do any talking. I'm not one to talk if no one else is.

When I was down here awhile ago, a rather scruffy looking guy with shaggy hair and beard and dark round glasses was playing the piano beautifully. Schumann, perhaps, or of that ilk.

I'll come back down in a couple days. The doctors I spoke with today were finding very gentle and rational ways to tell me he is probably in that stage commonly known as "dying". Further decisions are needed -- not immediately, they were quick to point out. But surely after a couple more days at this rate of decline.

Sounds pretty immediate to me.

We are all blessed that Dad never lost his mind. If he had the energy he could weigh the risks and benefits of peritoneal versus hemodialysis and their likely impact on his quality of life. Based on discussions we've had in the past, I'm also confident that he would say: Don't bother.

So barring a miraculous recovery, that's about it. The common question next is: How am I doing? Well, fine. Well enough. I'll grieve for my own reasons in my own time. My brother knows what's up. My mother too, who's known him since 1947 and never really stopped loving him, of course. Only other remaining family are connected through his second ex wife, who all still love him too, in their way.

Barring some sort of psychopathology, we never really stop loving old spouses. So I've gathered.

By chance his woman friend of many years was here too, when I arrived. She participated in the conference. As some woman friends can be, she is nearly a wife in terms of closeness, and her presence was welcome.

I have thoughts on death. The upshot is: It's nothing. Nothing to fear, anyway. The dying have nothing to be sad about, either. Not for their own sake. They're not going to miss anything. Missing is a form of experience, and death ends experience.

But for the rest of us, it's a major transition, no lie. When someone who predated us, created us, educated us, and infuriated us for our first five decades or so is finally and untidily gone, that's rather a disruption, wot.

I'm kind of getting ahead of myself, right. But I sort of have to. After all, I don't think he's going back to the assisted living place, and guess who gets to go sort through and pack all his stuff? Like, within the next few weeks.

My ex offers to help with that. No one else's offers of assistance touch me. Hers do, very much.