Dearest Rachel –
When Dad’s latest health issue was at its most urgent, he was in the hospital, which is practically in our backyard (especially as compared to his and Mom’s house, where I have my ‘office’). As a result, it was no trouble – and indeed, I felt it more my responsibility than my regular ‘work,’ such as it was – for me to spend entire days at his bedside, keeping vigil.
His situation has once again become less grave, and he is back at the rehabilitation center he was at some two and a half years ago. This, you already know, along with the fact that the center, while still fairly close by (although I’m not sure how it compares to your childhood home and the Elms, where your grandmother spent her last, lost decade), is quite literally beyond their house; stopping there is only two blocks out of the way from the straight shot down Euclid Avenue that it takes to get there. As a result, I now split my weekdays between the ‘office’ and the rehab center, getting some actual ‘work’ done before heading over to see him and make sure he’s doing well. To be sure, between the weekend and the cold I’ve just gotten over, that routine has been disturbed, but this looks to be the new weekday normal until Daniel and I fly out a couple weeks from now.
There is even some talk that Dad will be coming home, possibly even while the two of us are still out of town (I would say “out of country,” but it probably doesn’t count if we’ve made it as far as Alaska). Of course, he’ll be that much more limited in his movement than he was in the days before falling ill this time around – the talk includes, among other things, the need to get him a hospital-style bed for his comfort, to be set up in either the family or living rooms (probably the former) – but it’s undeniably encouraging news for all of us, unless you count the fact that Dad has been looking forward to heaven every time he has to endure one of these crises.
For what it’s worth, it’s not as if he has to look forward to any less eternity due to the delay. But that’s beside the point.
I mention all this as a preamble to the fact that, while over there today to (hopefully) wrap up the books for the month of April, I happened to poke my head into their master bedroom while wandering around the house, and noticed something out of place about the bed there:
Part of the reason that this caught my attention is because it looks like Mom’s adapted to the situation at hand better than I have to mine. To this day, five and a half years later, I still have a pillow – your thin, half-sized pillow, so it’s not a question of maintaining aesthetic symmetry or anything – lying on ‘your’ side of the bed. I sleep on ‘my’ side of the bed; even when I roll over onto one side or the other, I’m within arm’s length of the alarm clock on ‘my’ nightstand (not that I have to deal with that, thank heavens, but still). In short, she’s adjusted to her new reality faster than I have to mine.
Now, to be fair, there are some differences that make more sense out of her adjustment. If I’m not mistaken, my folks have always had a double bed, whereas we – or rather I, much as I hate to acknowledge it – have a queen; it’s decidedly more crowded than ours is. Maybe she’s just taking advantage of the extra maneuverability in a way that I have no real need for. Even when (hoping I don’t have to mean “if”) Dad returns, he’ll be using a separate bed in a different room, affording him additional light and access to the rest of the house; best to save his linens for that future possibility in a way that I don’t have to for you. I’m not sure.
That being said, it seems like I’m hanging onto a look of the place that I shouldn’t be, whereas Mom has somehow managed to already move on and make adjustments for the days to come. It feels like I should be embarrassed by her ability to do so, when I haven’t. Then again, there’s an actual need to adjust here at their place that I’m not having to deal with, myself; in other circumstances, things would be different.
Boy, if that isn’t a platitude, I don’t know what is: “if things were different, things would be different.” Still, as obvious as it is, it’s not wrong.
Anyway, I guess I need to get on with the day, so I will check in with you later. For now, try to keep an eye on me, and wish me well. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 