Toughness…sometimes

We are in Louisiana with Dads wife and my sister and brother. We drove 16 hours to get here because its so far in the middle of no where-  there were no flights to get us here. His lung collapsed on Thursday after he had yet another surgery to remove a ruptured gall bladder.

He has pneumonia in the “good” lung as well as a serious blood infection. When we left tonight, he was holding his own and the Dr is always amazed that he continues to fight. Dr said, “he has so many things wrong with him I cant tell you which Im more concerned about, but he just keeps going”. He’s a strong, tough old guy as he approaches his December 7th birthday when he will be 71.

I saw my brother for the first time in 34 years tonight and hugged him. How strange that was, seeing his face as a grown up when I thought (hoped) he would have remained the 15 year old mischievous boy-big-brother he was the last time I saw him. I wont get in to why hes been gone so long, it only matters that he was here. He looks looks so much like my Dad its scary…

There are no photographs of us as children together other than the ones in my head and it makes me think,

we would have taken some… had we known…

If nothing else, Im glad we came to have a reunion after so many years and while we softly talked, we listened to my fathers labored breathing and were acutely aware that we share the same blood.

D and I drove past the place where my friend Morlin killed himself near Fort Polk over a year ago and I said a quiet prayer as I watched the thick, deep woods fly past my dark window and once again imagined him sitting alone in his car listening to the sound of the frogs and wind right before he left this world of his own accord.

This place holds too many ghosts for me I think and when my father leaves, I wont return again.

Staying until Monday if Dad doesnt get worse. I thought I would re-post this,  written a year ago when we were here last for the surgery they thought would surely kill him.

(note to self.. “We” dont go quietly into that good night, do we?)

And the world spins around and around….

My Father….

Was a stranger who
Played the banjo
Didn’t like children
Loved boats
Had dreams he never shared
and dreams that never happened
Taught me how to fish
Smoked a pipe and I loved the smell
Smiled mostly when he was alone
Built beautiful things out of wood
Once asked me for the words to the song “Desperado”
Knew how to shuck an oyster
Never liked me
but maybe loved me
Is a stranger still
now an old man in a bed with fevered memories
and voices from our past
and I wonder what those voices say to him
I hope
he finds the peace that I finally did
and I hope
he finds me there…
somewhere.

– Me