I'm just not sure how much more of this Mom and I can take. They said part of the reason for Dad going to Bakersfield, was to make it easier on us. Well - hi, IT'S NOT! He's on our minds all day -- and I feel terrible because I haven't talked to him since Monday, and I haven't seen him in 11 days. I saw him every single day while he was in the hospital -- this is just not fair. I feel like I've turned a blind eye, like I'm being ignorant, like when I'm out and about trying to live my life I'm automatically succumbing to this "out of sight, out of mind" attitude and it eats away at me and I feel guilty. And then I call on Monday night and this is how the conversation goes:
Dad, timidly, "hello?"
Me, "DADDY!! Hi!"
Dad, whining, "ohhhh get me out of here!!!!! (starts to cry) take me home! PLEASE take me home!"
Me, "ohhh Daddy, we're going to take you home. You're coming home soon, in a few days I promise."
Dad, "I wanna go home now!"
click. he hangs up.
Mom, "how did it go?"
Me, "ummm... not good. awful. the usual."
HOW can this pain be beneficial?! And yes, we ask this to all the professionals there, and we get "well - he's making gains in therapies, he's really doing well, if he wasn't doing well and we thought he was in danger we'd definitely stop this program..." etc. etc. So what are we to believe?? We're both TERRIFIED every time we call or visit because he instantly starts crying and wants to come home. so painful. We're at the end of week 5, he still doesn't know where he is all the time. I don't blame him. We're in the same boat. I don't know where my Dad is either.
I had one of those electric shocks of emotion today sitting at the carwash. (sidenote: the carwash ALWAYS smells like chocolate chip cookies! I have no idea why, it's so deliciously perplexing and inconvenient to smell cookies baking at the dirty car wash - but it does, don't know why.) anyway. sitting there in a plastic chair on the asphault, sun beating down on me but it feels nice, watching the immigrants dry all our cars, I get a flashback memory to going to the Red Sox/Dodgers game in Boston with my Dad the week after my 21st birthday. Three images - bam! bam! bam! then a heave followed by tears. Dad and I sitting in our seats behind home plate decked out in Dodger Blue, Dad and I pushing through the flow of fans on Yawkey way into Fenway Park, Dad and I cheers-ing with our plastic cups of beer - our first beers at a game together (our first drink together, period) - and then sitting back and watching the game. Then a fan came down and tapped me on the shoulder and said in a thick Massachusettes accent, "is this your Dad?" "yeah" I say. He reaches over me, "Let me shake your hand, Sir, I hope one day I'm sitting here with my Kid and sharing a beer. He's up there - he's 7. It's just nice to see. Despite the fact that you're Dodger fans and all." They shook hands, Dad gave a laugh of pride with the words "thank you" mixed in. The fan turned and walked back up to his son. Dad looked back at the game but threw his arm around me and squeezed me hard. That was the biggest, beaming smile I've ever seen on him.
ohhhhhhhhhhh it hurts.
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