It all starts to become a little much when it's real

You know when you fall over and scrape your knee; it hurts like a bastard, but you know that eventually it will all be fine. That the cut will slowly scab, itch and eventually, leave barely a mark. In 12 months time, you'll giggle at the ridiculous squeal you omitted when you suffered such an injury.

I've put all this stuff with my father into this category. Bung liver? Pfft. Give it a few years and he'll be right as rain. He's done nothing even remotely untoward for at least 7 years now; surely that has to count for something? Attack of the crazies? Pfft; one drip full and he's back to normal.

Except, it's starting to not go that way.

Today it hit me like a big bag of potatoes. He's dying. This is not some little issue with a knee; or something that will heal up and be gone. It's here to stay, warts and all. It will be what takes my father away in the end.

I went over there today and he looked awful. 'It's just the tablets' both of them are telling me; but do they really think that? Or, like me, are they trying desperately to make it fit into the 'it'll be fine' box - when it obviously is not going to fit there?

I have no idea what to do. I want to do so much; yet, at the same time, I want to cover myself in the blanket called denial and just pretend that he's just 'got the flu' and will be back at work this week. That it won't be a long term thing because he'll be fine.

But, I'm really starting to doubt that now. I am honestly starting to think that this will be the death of him.

And I dread that moment.

A song, from the early 90's keeps popping in my head; and it's filled with bits of advice for living. It basically says 'worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum'. Which, is true. But, it's like living on tenderhooks.

'How is he today?' has become my mantra.

And each time he gets better, and then slides backwards, I feel like an over-optimistic fool. I nearly shout it from the rooftops that 'he's fine' when, for a whole day, he's fine. But, the following day turns into a bad one; and I feel even more useless than I did before.

Surely I would know when my father is going to die?

What scares me the most, is what my gut is telling me. I can't even put that into words.

I have been keeping myself relatively busy with work, the house and the kids. It's actually been pretty good; work all day, come home and pack/unpack some more stuff, do the dinners and lunches and go to bed. But some nights, like tonight, I find myself shovelling mulch in the pouring rain crying my heart out.