I’m Driving down North Palm Canyon at night and my eyes are drawn to the city’s holiday light display. Every light post is decorated with shooting stars that launch towards the road. Both sides of the street have these decorations leading down the main drag of Palm Springs. Every shop is glowing with holiday celebrations and activity. The world around me is celebrating because tomorrow is new years eve and the weekend is here for them. There are a few shooting stars that aren’t working. Among the festivities these stand empty and broken with no light. I can’t help feeling the same, empty and broken with no light. My stomach growls and I just want to be away from all of this.
When the doctor starts describing the diagnosis of my father’s cancer he goes the long way around. I can tell this is the part of the job he doesn’t want to do. He’s very uncomfortable and stammers a lot to get through our questions and explain everything to us. My mom is already crying for her ex-husband but my sister and I are very matter of fact with this. We’ve been preparing all day in this hospital room for the next phase of our life with no father so I’m just numb. I want to know the details faster and this doctor’s inability to spit it out just frustrates me. It’s not polite to say “Hurry the fuck up already,” when it’s hard enough for everyone in the room to be there, but I’m thinking it.
I couldn’t leave my dad tonight until I knew he was fed. Three times they brought meat to a vegetarian and we needed to sort this out permanently. If he is going to live his remaining days in this bed then he better get the right food. After he was fed we all left to find food for ourselves. He told us all dinner was on him and to “Spend it all up because that’s what it’s for.” I’ve found us a place to eat but to get there we have to drive down celebration lane. Passing block after block of people happy and drinking to the new year I slowly make my way to dinner, hoping that I picked the right place that will have something for everyone. I can’t focus on food and I stare at the menu waiting for everyone to arrive. In and out of glazing over and choosing what I want for dinner my mind is swimming and I can’t seem to reach the shore.
Leaving the restaurant I thank everyone for coming to visit my dad in the hospital and for being there today. Hugs for everyone and the surface of my emotional pool ripples. It hasn’t hit me yet but it’s there and the embrace of my mom and sister in this parking lot stir me up a little more. I want to drive to my dad’s house without having to pass through celebration town again. Luckily the main drag of Palm Springs is one way and the back side is far less festive.
Driving through the desert at night is surreal when you’re alone. The contrast of light from the city is abrupt. There are lights out here in the dirt but they are dwindling. The black surrounds you like a blanket of cold and it tries to get into your car as you pass through it. The instrument panel on this old truck is faint in comparison to newer vehicles. It barely displays how fast I’m going and does nothing to light up the cab. The stars are very pretty out here away from the intrusive light. Humming engine noise and the occasional bump in the long road home are the only thing I hear. This old thing doesn’t have blue tooth so my phone provides directions from the speakerphone and I turn on Google’s voice to tell me how to get back to my dad’s house. “Continue for 14 miles,” she tells me.
I made that drive for 3 weeks before we moved my dad to hospice in my mom’s house. The cancer had eaten all of our resolve and the majority of my dad’s body. We stopped all treatment and moved him to his ex-wife’s house where he was able to be with us for the last three days of his life. I’m grateful for the time I was able to be there when he needed me. The only true way to honor your loved ones is to be there in the shit, when you want to run, when you don’t want to eat, when you have to hold on so someone can answer when the nurse needs confirmation. Honor is signing the forms, watching them wrap him up, and holding your sister as she sobs in the kitchen. Strength is picking a restaurant when you’re not hungry and eating anyway. Love is what you feel when he’s gone.
I miss you Dad.
Creative Blox 