This blog has been stuck in my mind for a while. The reason is simple – there’s a post that I need to write somehow haven’t got the whatever to do it. It’s about age and death and the thoughts and words don’t come together very well. In fact for the longest time I haven’t even been able to put together a title – it was either ‘Do not go gentle’ or ‘You are old Father William’. I guess I’ve decided on the former (unless this changes before I pos it (or don’t post it at all)) and I just thought I’d type my thoughts out and just run with it.
My father has been unwell for a long while – nothing major but gradual slow decline. His balance started going and a series of small ‘strokes’ have slowly worn him down. Last December he was quite unwell and was admitted into hospital. After several weeks we had to come to a decision on what his next step was. Logically the path was obvious. He couldn’t return home as my mother, although in pretty good nick with 75% bionic hips, couldn’t take care of him. And there was no way he could take care of himself, although he claimed to the contrary. And so we had to find him a nursing home and he is now there. He is in good hands, my mother can go and see him whenever she wants and my brother, who is a good man, goes regularly. All very logical.
And yet I can’t quite get the image of the meeting where this was all decided out of my mind. We all have the image of our parents as majestic creatures (at least I hope LSWMBO and Mr Happy do) who are in control and set the scene for us. But over the years of his retirement he had slowly withdrawn from the world – his hobbies and pursuits were solitary and he had progressively fallen behind the passage of the world. And seeing him diminished and vulnerable was so intensely painful that I can’t quite remove it from my mind. And so Dylan Thomas thunders through my mind…..
Sorry for my self-indulgence.