4th of July

I sit here in the guest room of my father's condo having left him and his lady friend at her place down the hall. Fireworks have begun to pop. Families have gathered, BBQ's been had. Are people enjoying themselves?

On these days when I'm far from friends, and their voices on the phone don't give me comfort, I know it is time - again - to look within to find my peace. It is the most important - and difficult - work of my life.

On these days, when I've lost my sense of self, spending time with people is more painful than holing away with my notebooks. Family and friends become strangers. They are they, but I am not me.

When they are they and I am not me, it is as if a gulf as big as the sky has opened between us. They joke and laugh and their chatter is a wall I cannot breech. When I talk my words are drowned before I finish. The point of my story is missed, not heard.

Spending these weeks with my father I see our similarities. We are introverts trying to recreate our lives in the face of loss. We are critical of ourselves and others and have ended up lonelier than we imagined.

My father's daily compass is set with the news, while my morning ritual begins with meditation. We discuss our country's failures at breakfast, and I wonder how an enlightened society could resolve them. Our evening comforts are chocolate ice cream and dharma talks, respectively.

I visited the cardiologist with my dad yesterday. She determined his shortness of breath is due to incomplete usage of his lungs resulting from heart failure and confinement to a wheelchair. She prescribed breathing exercises and an inhaler, and recommended a healthier diet.

Today my dad ate ribs, chicken, beans, corn, apple pie and ice cream at the Fourth of July BBQ downstairs. He said he needed comfort food. I think he is afraid. And he knows I am leaving in another day.

When I am back in Texas and my sister is out of the country, he feels abandoned. It doesn't matter that he has a lady friend, a call button, and hired helpers 15 hours per day. His nightly dinners, regular card games, and the ever present news distract but do not change the fact of his mortality.

May we be happy. May we be free. May we be at peace.

Image by Vanesa from Pixabay