There was something scary and metal in my bed last night. Turns out it was a coat hanger, fortunately, but I was kind of scared because my wordy word it sounded like there was someone walking around outside. So instead of doing something about it I hid under my covers, ate pickles and texted him. As you do.
Went to pick up Dad from the airport this morning. A month hasn't gone by already has it? But it has. Time is flying past us all and it scares me.
When my family was over in Port Lincoln, we stayed in our Grandma and Grandpa's (Oma and Pup is what we call them) house. That place never changes. Like, I am not exagerrating, there is still the same fucking everything. Except there was no Pup, not this time. He's not dead, no, not yet, but his bone cancer's got so bad that he can't stand up any more. So he stays in the Nursing Home. I visited. It smells like soup and toilets and the walls are blank and bare, there are codes on the door so dementia patients can't escape, there was a dementia patient there and she looked at us but we just walked away, ignored her and walked away, because some things are too uncomfortable to stare straight in the face.
He visited us for my Oma's birthday. He is changed, so changed, although he seems exactly the same. The same humour, the same voice, the same love of life and my Oma. But his eyes were different, like he knew he was staring death in the face. Except unlike everyone else he wasn't looking away.
And I realised that it's only a matter of time.
Parenthood is the Anti-Pride
1 week ago