Living

Just about two years ago my mother died. In her last two weeks it was very hard. One day when I was talking to my daughter I told her that my mother was dying. She said, no she’s not, “she’s living, everyday that she is here she is living, she’s not dying.” It didn’t strike me until later how wise she was. Even when there is just a little time left, a person is living, not dying.

Now I am faced again with this prospect with my father. The treatment he was taking was only making matters worse and we took him off the medicine on Friday. We don’t know how long he has but for the time that he does have I am planning to be here with him. Because I want to be but also because I promised my mother the day that she died that I would take care of him. He is in pain quite a bit and has been sleeping a lot for the last few days. The stories that I enjoyed so much on our trips back and forth to Cleveland are gone. He doesn’t feel like talking much. But he is enjoying listening to me talk on the phone and try to work on this deal to buy a big real estate portfolio. He always asks me to stay in the room so he can listen to my calls. I think he’s living through me a little bit. So for now, I will remember what Lindsay said, my father is living everyday that he is still here with us, he’s not dying.