Six Months

I was at a Target trying on clothes the other day (just to see if I could fit into a size smaller—success!) and they had the most horrific mirrors I’ve ever experienced. They were perfectly aligned so that you could clearly see your butt. And all sides, which was nice. I tend to believe that God put the butt back there for a reason and the less I have to look at my own the better! Trying to not see it while trying on jeans was an exercise in futility in this particular 8 X 8 foot space. I guess it could have been worse. I could have been 35 lbs. heavier and looking at my ass in the mirror.

There are two places in the South I’ve always wanted to go—one being New Orleans and the other Savannah, Ga. I mostly want to go to these places because of books I’ve read. The only reference I have to New Orleans is:

1) Anne Rice novels, sort of envision it as sultry heat, moss draped trees, and old Victorian style houses. Is this accurate? I don’t know, but it sounds cool.

2) The travel channel food episode where they’re eating some sort of pastry.

I’m not interested in Mardi Gras. I’m not all that into flashing people, I think I’m past that particular phase in life. Who am I kidding? I never really was in that particular phase in life. Now I just want to side on a wide porch in a hammock or rocking chair, drink some wine, and do nothing.

I want to go to Savannah because of the book Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Not the movie. The book. Read it.

Now that I’ve given you some inane thoughts for the day I’ll tell you what I’m really feeling. Frustrated, sad, sick to my stomach--but I think the sick to my stomach part is that I've been taking NSAIDS since the beginning of July and drinking way too much caffeine. So my stomach lining is probably doing really well right now, as you can imagine.

We had the meeting with my dad’s rehab. center today and they told us he’s not really improving, but rather has gone downhill since the last time he was there. We are going to have to send him to a nursing home October 8.

Holy crap, I feel like I’m 50. Don’t people do this when they are 50, not when they are in their 20’s? Almost $7000 a month for nursing home care is a tough pill to swallow. And I’m not even the one who is going to have to pay for it. I don’t know how to help my stepmother. This is perhaps the most powerless I have ever felt, the least equipped I have ever been in coping with something.

The one person who has been there for me since the moment I was born is suddenly mute, having a hard time comprehending things and confined to either bed or his chair. Now people are looking to me (and my stepmother and brother) to make these decisions. Asking about DNR orders (do not resuscitate), telling us to pick a nursing home.

Six months ago everything was fine. Or as fine as could be. I had a baby on the way and my dad was feeling good. There aren’t even any words to describe this particular feeling. This particular emotional place.

I want to be strong enough for this.