Judge, Jury, and Executioner

I returned from my trip to a father in decline.  He has fallen every couple of nights the last week, each time necessitating a trip to the emergency room.  The last fall was a big one - he may have broken a bone in his back, another bone - so at the very least he's going to end up in a rehab unit for a few days.  Probably he'll need to move from his independent living apartment into as assisted living facility.  It just doesn't seem practical for him to be there alone anymore.  I have no frame of reference for how shitty this must make him feel.

The whole thing is complicated for me by the almost complete coin of silence that lies over The Old City as far as my family is concerned.  My father has spent maybe a total of 67 minutes on the phone with me - and has never contacted me first - in the 4 years that I've been gone so no word from him now is hardly a surprise.  My sister has contacted me unbidden . . . I'm trying to be fair here, difficult because I'm prone to lying and justifying and exaggerating when it makes me look good . . . maybe 5 times in that period?  Certainly not double figures, and she's very casual about responding when I reach out to her.  Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn't.  Also not very surprising.

I'm in this weird space where I feel like I should be making an effort to get updates and offer suggestions but no one is contacting me or asking me any questions or responding when I get in touch with them.  So . . . I'm not checking in and I'm feeling guilty about it.  Naturally.  Of course.  Most people - when treated a certain way for years and years and decades - get the drift.  They don't keep doing the same thing over and over.

To top the whole shit sundae off I'm battling the temptation to be judge, jury, and executioner about the whole sorry, preventable mess.  My dad hasn't moved from his easy chair in 20 years; doesn't eat and I don't mean properly, I mean at all; and he drinks.  So the fact that he's unsteady enough on his feet to fall repeatedly pisses me off and I have to fight the urge to make snarky, passive-aggressive comments.  This doesn't help anyone and it makes me feel terrible.  Maybe this is why these people don't talk to me.

Mostly I'm OK with it.  I believe that I act consistently and kindly to the best of my limited, human ability.  I believe that the way I act is just fine while having empathy and trying to show patience for those who think I act like an ass.  To Thine Own Self Be True is a treasured phrase of mine.

In one of my favorite Simpson's episodes Homer, trying to get free cable service, climbs a pole outside his house to see if he can hook his TV into the cable feed.

There's a red wire and a black wire.

"Hmm, only two choices," he says, hooking onto the red wire and receiving a blast of electricity.

"Must be the black, then," he reasons, receiving a similar jolt when he hooks onto the black wire.

He pauses, looks at the two connections, and says: "Maybe it's the red wire."  This time the shock is so powerful that he's knocked clean off the pole.

That's me.  That's what I do.  It'll be different this time.

Maybe I should call my dad.  It's the right thing to do.