What a day

I eagerly await the day when I can sit down at my computer and blithely type out: "had a wonderful day, Dad feeling much better and outlook is positive!"

Instead, every hurdle he clambers over just provides a stunning view to another obstacle.

Oh, I have no doubt that he's recovering, but parts of it are progressing maddeningly slowly. The latest thing is, now that he is lucid, he is spending all day thinking. Lying in his bed, unable to get up, staring at the off-white acoustically tiled ceiling and thinking. Thinking about Kimberly, about the accident, about his classes, about his bills, about his animals at home without him.

His conversation is still dampened by drugs, but I can tell you he's frustrated, grieving, and just a tad angry. (Those last four words were sar-chasm. That's really really big sarcasm, folks)

He's expressed a desire for his own choice of lawyer (not a problem) and that both I and Mr B be given Power of Attorney. I don't agree with this last bit. It's not a two-man job. I think Mr B would do just fine without my meddling. Too many cooks spoil the soup, I say.

He wants his wife's remains cremated. I pointed out that, even though that's my and his preferences, she probably would want to be buried. He said he just couldn't. I understand completely. Personally, I think that the idea of taking a body, pumping it full of chemicals, liberally spreading it with make-up (to look "natural"), putting it in a really expensive box, then burying the whole lot is the most grotesque rite man has ever come up with. But that's just me.

Fortunately Mr B wants whatever Dad wants for Kimberly and cleverly did have her embalmed so that Dad could have time to recover and make this decision. Needs must when the devil drives. Mr B has done an amazing job of thinking things out. I'd have been a twittering wreck in his place.

Speaking of twittering. Between my being so tired and strung out and my not having gotten to speak with my Dad in so long I spent the visit chattering away like an insane canary on speed. Dad's probably wondering about my mental state right now. Another good reason to give Mr B sole Power of attorney. I'd probably screw it up anyway.

Dad is facing a much harder recovery than the physical part could ever be: the psychological part.

And once again, there's nothing I can do. He has to get through this on his own. All I can do (all of us can do) is be there for him. I'd love to be able to tell him not to worry about the bills, the paycheck deposits, and temporarily suspending unneeded services, but, well, that didn't work out so great.

But things will get better and we have to start thinking of the next step: when will he get out of hospital? Where will he stay? He's said that he doesn't want to go back to that house (something else that I understand completely) and he'll need quite a bit of care at first, too.

I've told him that he can, of course, stay with us. I have a big house, a farm, two empty dog pens, plus I'm here 24/7 so he wouldn't be alone. Then again, he'd have to learn how to stay in a house with Very Small People all over. Well, perhaps that would help him. It'd only be temporary, anyway.

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So, go visit him. Take him Bruegger's poppyseed bagels. Listen to him if he wants to talk. Don't press him if he doesn't. If he says something you don't agree with ("I'm gonna move to Romania and become a monk!") don't tell him that he needs to try to return to his old life just as if nothing happened. Just nod and ask him to think about it some more.