Tears

My father’s thin frame barely makes an indentation in the mattress.  For a man who once weighted 270 pounds, this is a shocking vision.  His throat is horse, and his right arm a mere dangling  limb.  This is the hand he painted with, his last watercolor still a work in progress on his easel.  He’s thrilled to see me, yet I can’t stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks.   I don’t want my reaction to frighten him, “Don’t cry, it’s okay”, he comforts me.  He’s in pain, and it crushes me.  From deep within I feel an ache and I wonder what journey we’re on.  I’d rather be in SE Asia, but I know this one is just as significant and life altering.  My mother cooked dinner and we tried to get my father to join us, but eating is too difficult for him.  He chokes, and has no appetite.  He’s lost a significant amount of weight since I saw him in December. Tomorrow I will experiment with pureed soups and smoothies.