Today

Today we took dad in to the facility
and he will stay there.

Today I am numb.
Today I don't know what to do with my time.
Today I want to tell people what I am feeling.
Today I don't want to talk about it.
Today I wonder how he is doing, without us.
Today we call to check up on him.

We wander around, and sweep floors.
We fold laundry.
We are tired, but we don't sleep.
We think about the good stuff.
We downplay the bad times.
We feel guilty.
We don't eat.
We have a stiff drink.

I look at his pictures.
I look at his things.
I wonder how he is doing.
I want someone to know what I am feeling.
I do not want to talk about it.

Today we took him to the facility,
and left him with the caregivers,
and I looked back as the door was closing,
and he was pointing at us,
walking towards us,
telling them he was going with us,
but it was too late,
and the door closed,
and he was on the other side,
and we left,
without him.

Today I am numb.