Can't Believe It

So I plow through 2 hours of Vacation City traffic to get to the airport for my red-eye flight. Granted, I was in a big, comfy seat in the back of a shuttle so I was not personally doing any serious plowing and I slept most of the flight so maybe I'm being overly-dramatic about my trials and tribulations.  Shorty, at the last minute, texts me that he can indeed pick me up at The Old City airport and casually mentions that he has a car I can use when I'm home.  I shit you not when I say I spent at least a few hours dicking around online and on the phone trying to negotiate down the cost of a two week auto rental, to no avail.  I really spent a lot of time and emotional energy doing this.  Wasted a lot of time trying to arrange the world to my liking would be an apt analysis.

Ironically, as he drove down the road to an appointment and I sat in the front seat of the car he was loaning me typing up a snarky email about the fact that the car was a real piece of shit - greatly amusing myself - I was soon to find out that the battery of the car was indeed a piece of shit and would not start the car, proving that you can in fact choke on your own snark.

We got that sorted out and I swung by to see my father in his room in long-term rehab.  I am not exaggerating when I bandy the phrase "punched in the gut."  My sister indicated he was poorly but that preface did not prepare me for his physical appearance.  He is ill and he is not eating so he looked - and I am not exaggerating - like the pictures I've seen of individuals in work camps in the gulag.  He is very thin, his skin covered in bruises and sores, and he is dancing along the far edges of coherency.  I didn't know what he was talking about most of the time.

I hung in there for an hour and then fled to his apartment for some food and a nap - I was hungry and tired, the two HALT bookends, and not up to the scene.  I was shook up.  I was shook up.  I'm a pretty even-tempered guy, cool in tough situations, but this kicked my ass.  This was my father and he is clearly dying.  I hope he's dying because he sure doesn't look like he's having any fun.  I didn't want to be there.  I was perspiring heavily.  I didn't know what to do or what to say.  It was awful.

Tomorrow we meet with hospice to discuss end of life palliative care.  Can you believe it?  I cannot believe it.