|to sing without words#; (hum) wrote,|
@ 2003-01-07 15:29:00
It's odd to think that when my mother took her wedding vow she'd be sealing in her fate as well as my own. "In sickness and health". In sickness and health. If she only would have known that it would only be a few years before my father would be wheelchair bound, would she have made those vows? Absolutely.
He's non-functioning, but it's nothing she or I cannot handle. I take that back, it's not non-functioning, it's something even worse. Sometimes we can't handle it as well as we think. He can't leave the house, the pain is to excrutiating. It's sad. It's sick.
My father never really could take me to the circus like normal kids or play with me or anything. The first time my father was injured on the job, they told him he had the skeleton of an eighty year old man. He was 26 then. He's 63 now, and it's just getting worse.
I can hear his bones rotting and cracking all the time, and it saddens me. I don't cry for him. No. He wouldn't want that. He has never expressed the pain, never cried out or screamed, held it (and still holds it) in. He says it's sort of like a friend you've allways wanted to get rid of, but they're just damn annoying and won't leave you alone.
I'm afraid to know if he has passed that friend to me...
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