How many days has it been since my father entered the hospital? I have lost count….though it has been more than a month of days that much is certain.
The roller coaster ride continues. The climb to the unknown top is taken inch by inch, as fast as a slow crawl, barely noticeable to the naked eye. Then once on top (Oh the glory! Oh the thrill!) it is shortly lived, a slippery slide down hill, one that takes our breath away, causing our knuckles to turn white and scream, "No more!"
But the ride does not stop. It seems we cling to false vistas and unsteady dreams as we climb up, up, up and then look at each other and wonder why? where? what? How is this possible as we moan silently with hope and fear.
The one way ticket ends when it wants to… there is nothing one can do but to hold on and let go all at the same time.
My family takes turns sitting by my father’s bedside. My ticket offers a ride on the roller coaster at night, between 8pm until 8am. At night the secrets are softer and the dark deeper. I want the ride to end… isn’t that a bad thing to say? I don’t care where it ends just that it does one way or another. The agony of going up the roller coaster… is like a nosedive and holding on to a thread called a safety belt.
The roller coaster offers my memory to plunge and pull up past experieces. So as the ride takes my heart and soul, it also dives deep and surfaces things I have rarely recalled. Last night it offered me this:
As I am standing by his bedside, I am crying I cannot get ahold of myself, tears drop heavily on his bed… my father is his medicated state reaches out to me… then in an instant as fast as a roller coaster can dip my thoughts roll back-
I am three years old my father and I are walking out to the barn. As we walk along I reach up for his hand. His hand is so large (!) he laughs and puts out his finger for me to hold on to. I reach up and grab it and smile back. I feel safe.
Instantly I am three years old and fifty years old all at the same time…
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