Cruise

I had a mini breakdown today. More like a big breakdown, though I hate to admit it. While checking in for our cruise, I felt so helpless. My father is so feeble and it breaks my heart to see his hands shaking, watch his vacant stare, and witness him unable to walk. We didn't have a wheelchair for him to board the cruise (but do on the ship) and that was a huge mistake. He could barely walk and I know it was like climbing Mt. Everest for him to walk the "plank" for lack of a better word.

I want to scream at all of the people who I witness be so self centered around him. He is obviously unwell, bent over a cane, and they storm by him trying to jump onto an elevator or beat him to his place in line. Don't they see? Of course they don't, and I curse their ignorance. Or, maybe I am jealous of it.

I wish I could report I had some relevations from my father. Mostly we sit in silence. He stares into space. I try and bring up happy memories for him and reassure him that I am thankful for the example he provided me; traveling to Mexico and golfing on Pebble Beach. He is just a shell of his former self and I know that he wouldn't want to see the man he has become. In some ways, his death will bring him peace.

I have a well in my throat writing those words: "His death..."

Tonight, at dinner, he had a diarrhea accident. Karen had to take him back to the room and change his diaper. I welled up with tears at the table and hoped no one noticed. It breaks my heart to part with this once strong and vibrant man.