The oncologist says that he should be gone by now. And yet my Dad clings to life. He's awake for about 2 hours a day and is so very tired. It's hard to catch him awake and when we do it's lovely. I told him I missed him and he told that was nice to hear. I wonder what he dreams of? Does he truly know we miss him?
Mostly we are ok. And I think that I have done all the grieving I can while he is still with us. Then something sideswipes me. I opened a book of his a few nights ago. My Dad loves books. He had scrawled his name in the book. In a hurry and with gusto, like everything he does. I ran my finger over the name and I could feel the imprint of the pen on the paper.
I realised that he will never write his name again. Ever. Alive or not, he will never write his name again. Our name is the first thing we learn to write. I have watched the children learn to write their names with such pride. My Dad has lost that ability.
And that is so sad.
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