To hold warmth, to let go...
Friday, April 6th, 2007 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntbijouMy husband is on his way to San Antonio to see his dying father. Pop is dying, there are no two ways around it. He has lung cancer, which I am sure has spread beyond his lungs by now, and he has consistently refused treatment. Well, he's over ninety years old, and he's stubborn to the bone, so it's his right. Still...
I wanted the Husbandly One to at least take the kids with him. I can't go. Ma and Pop are such heavy, heavy smokers that I can't even walk into their apartment without my lungs seizing up, which kills me because I love them both very dearly. However, it's such a downer when your guest has to suddenly leave for a breathing treatment at the local emergency room, don't you think?
However, he couldn't take the kids. Yes, Pop is in that bad of shape. Apparently, it won't be long. I am fully prepared for either a very angry, snarly Husbandly One to walk through the door, or a very silent, quiet, tight-lipped Husbandly One. Probably the latter. He and his father are close, though they snarl, snap, and nip at each other constantly. There's a lot of affection in those snarls and nips. I know the reason he's put off seeing his father for such a long time is because he couldn't bear to see him in pain. Pop's not being treated for pain, and it understandably makes him very, very cranky. Plus, he was moved from a home out in the woods where he constantly rambled, exploring, working, fishing, and just doing whatever he felt like, to a cramped little two-bedroom apartment without so much as a park close by for a nice break of scenery, and nothing to look at out his front door except the metal wall of an industrial building. I think he's entitled to his crankiness. Shoot, I'D be cranky, and I'm pretty healthy!
I am hoping that during this visit, they at least talk, instead of the surly silence of our last visit. Part of the surliness, Pop said, was because I was forced to sit outside. He didn't like that, because it was cold outside, and he knows I get cold easily. However, it was the best solution. I have this thing about breathing. I like to do it, often, and on a somewhat regular basis. And yes, I used my inhaler, but...*sigh* It was not a good visit.
This way, Pop gets the Husbandly One all to himself and they can sit and yak about the biggest fish they ever caught that one time out on the lake, or how the Husbandly One blamed all the trouble he got into as a kid on that darned "kid across the street" who, of course, didn't exist except in THO's imagination. They might talk about Pop's ever present herd of cats when they were still living up in Douglasville, or about how the Husbandly One was always getting in deep kimchee with his older brother, Uncle Scientist. Or how Pop finally said he wanted to meet Uncle Scientist's partner, Uncle Artist. Boy, I sure woulda liked to have been there to see that!! Pop's shorter than me, by quite a lot, and Uncle Artist has to be nearly seven feet tall. I can just see Pop looking up, and up, and up, and UP!!!!
I'm waiting for the inevitable phone call. The Husbandly One has my cell phone, and I know he's going to have to pull over on the way home, parking on the side of the road, and say something like, "he looks awful, Auntie," or, "I'm going to lose him soon, there's just not enough time!"
How can you hold someone over the phone? I'll listen, and then I'll say, "Just come home, babes. Just come home. I'll be here. I'll be waiting."
I wanted the Husbandly One to at least take the kids with him. I can't go. Ma and Pop are such heavy, heavy smokers that I can't even walk into their apartment without my lungs seizing up, which kills me because I love them both very dearly. However, it's such a downer when your guest has to suddenly leave for a breathing treatment at the local emergency room, don't you think?
However, he couldn't take the kids. Yes, Pop is in that bad of shape. Apparently, it won't be long. I am fully prepared for either a very angry, snarly Husbandly One to walk through the door, or a very silent, quiet, tight-lipped Husbandly One. Probably the latter. He and his father are close, though they snarl, snap, and nip at each other constantly. There's a lot of affection in those snarls and nips. I know the reason he's put off seeing his father for such a long time is because he couldn't bear to see him in pain. Pop's not being treated for pain, and it understandably makes him very, very cranky. Plus, he was moved from a home out in the woods where he constantly rambled, exploring, working, fishing, and just doing whatever he felt like, to a cramped little two-bedroom apartment without so much as a park close by for a nice break of scenery, and nothing to look at out his front door except the metal wall of an industrial building. I think he's entitled to his crankiness. Shoot, I'D be cranky, and I'm pretty healthy!
I am hoping that during this visit, they at least talk, instead of the surly silence of our last visit. Part of the surliness, Pop said, was because I was forced to sit outside. He didn't like that, because it was cold outside, and he knows I get cold easily. However, it was the best solution. I have this thing about breathing. I like to do it, often, and on a somewhat regular basis. And yes, I used my inhaler, but...*sigh* It was not a good visit.
This way, Pop gets the Husbandly One all to himself and they can sit and yak about the biggest fish they ever caught that one time out on the lake, or how the Husbandly One blamed all the trouble he got into as a kid on that darned "kid across the street" who, of course, didn't exist except in THO's imagination. They might talk about Pop's ever present herd of cats when they were still living up in Douglasville, or about how the Husbandly One was always getting in deep kimchee with his older brother, Uncle Scientist. Or how Pop finally said he wanted to meet Uncle Scientist's partner, Uncle Artist. Boy, I sure woulda liked to have been there to see that!! Pop's shorter than me, by quite a lot, and Uncle Artist has to be nearly seven feet tall. I can just see Pop looking up, and up, and up, and UP!!!!
I'm waiting for the inevitable phone call. The Husbandly One has my cell phone, and I know he's going to have to pull over on the way home, parking on the side of the road, and say something like, "he looks awful, Auntie," or, "I'm going to lose him soon, there's just not enough time!"
How can you hold someone over the phone? I'll listen, and then I'll say, "Just come home, babes. Just come home. I'll be here. I'll be waiting."
