Soldier On

A lot of people from all corners of the retirement home have had nice things to say about my father.  Aides and nurses and the like, people that I recognized but generally couldn't identify by name, came by the room as I was cleaning out dad's stuff, brought up the qualities of the man that I loved the most and want to remember.  It was a good thing for me to hear, especially after watching his profound physical deterioration over the last week.  The people who staff the front desk, the cook, the kid that brought up the dinner that I ordered last night all mentioned dad fondly.

The people that we love, that we're close to, are revealed to us in all of their blazing glory and flaming imperfection as we maneuver through life.  Being a man who can find something wrong in a pile of uncut diamonds I tend to get out my great big nuclear microscope and investigate the holy hell out of those defects.  This does not make me a bad man and it is not particularly unusual.  It isn't particularly comforting, either.  Alcoholics are a perplexing lot, too - charming, charismatic, likable.  I believe that a lot of the frustration I had with dad can be traced to the fact that I was very much like him, especially in the defects department: impatient, intolerant, bit of a temper, brooding and unapproachable at times.  I focus on that and not the wonderful qualities I inherited from him.  Because I'm a guy who can find a defect etc etc.

What's the point here?  I never know what the goddam point is.  I guess I loved my father in all his glory and all of his murk and I'll remember the good stuff and I'll grow from the bad stuff.  Soldier on, as always.