Of Fathers and Mothers

Mom and Dad in 2006

It's now my third Fathers Day since I lost Dad. But that has barely registered on my internal seismic meter, so immersed am I in taking care of my nearly 90 year-old, now quite frail mother who fell three weeks ago and broke her hip.

As this so often ushers in the beginning of the end for the elderly, like my Mom, I have been swirling in much worry and sadness. I have also been awash in memories of the end of my father's life as the precipitating event of his final demise took place at the same hospital, in some of the same wards, that my mother has resided at in these past three weeks.

Backwards and forwards and timeless hospital time all converging in my mind as I sit and sit.

So while I am not so much feeling the sharp piercing pangs of missing my father this year, the dull ache of his absence suffuses all.

Yesterday my mother seems to have turned a major corner in her recovery. (I say "seems to" because  once or twice I have left her in apparently much better shape and returned the next day to find her slipped way back down again.)

Mom was lucid and rational, present inside her eyes in a way she hasn't been since the fall. My Facebook status posted on the way home:

She was still sad when we talked about my father. "I miss him." she said quietly, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks, after I had shown her some pictures of their life together. She looked up, her eyes seeking mine, "He was my best friend."

I put my arm around her, gently squeeze, kiss the top of her gray head.

"I know mom. He loved you, too. I miss him, too."

It's not much, but it's what I've got.