I still see him

Sometimes, I still see him,
like he used to be.
Sometimes, for a moment,
I forget about the disease
and have a clear moment,
of him.

He's in there.
Trapped inside a disease.
Trying so hard to get out.
Sometimes, he breaks through,
finds an open window
and says hi,
from behind the walls of this
disease.

And in the same moment
I watch the disease claim him,
again.
Trap him.
Close the window.
So I only see him starring,
waving at me,
through a closed window pane,
that I want to break.

I wish I could break it for you,
dad.

Someday, it will be broken.

Someone with me

As I was sitting in the room with my dad,
crying for my dad,
watching him,
screaming at the walls,
throwing pictures,
hitting walls,
pulling on the door I was sitting against,
I felt someone sitting with me.

So strong did I feel it
a male figure,
a father's presence,
sitting on the floor with me,
legs outstretched, hands in His lap,
sad with me, sad like I was sad,
feeling what I was,
as if He was watching His dad,
and so much did I feel
that if I reached out I would
touch flesh,
that I spoke to Him,
out loud.

While I cried

We thought he was getting better.
He is getting worse.
There is something wrong with him.

I locked him and me in a room because
he was so violent, dangerous.
He screamed primitive screams at me.
Threw objects and punched the walls.
Pushed me and drew back as if to punch me
fist clenched, jaw clenched, foreign eyes.
He spat and cursed.
He cried in panic and anger and pain.

And I sat against the door
and tried to pretend
it was not my dad doing this.
And he stopped,
walked to me,
crouched next to me,
kissed my head,
said he was sorry,
stood up,
and screamed curses at the walls,
while I cried.

Singing to my dad in the emergency room

    Pleading. Mama? I wanna go home.
Sung quietly. Nearer my God to thee
    Panic. Oh get me outta here.
Nearer to thee
    But it hurts, mama.
E'en though it be a cross
    No. It hurts me mom.
That raiseth me.
    Pleading. Shirley? Where are you?
Still all my song shall be
Nearer my God to thee

    They're gonna kill me.
Though like the wanderer
    Whispered. Don't let them hurt me.
The sun gone down
    Shana, help me. Shana?
Darkness be over me
    Mumbling. Eyes closed.
My rest a stone
    Mom? Shirl?
Still in my dreams I'll be
    Don't leave me.
Nearer my God to thee
    Quiet mumbling.

To hear him

Dad is sick.
Again we are at the hospital.

To hear him scream at us, profanities.
Cry for us to help him.
To feel him push us and yell.
We change his diaper.
and wipe him clean.
While he screams for us, at us,
not knowing it is us.
He calls my name while he pushes me
in panic and rage.
To hear him cry to go home.

To hear him cry for us to help him.
To hear him curse us as we try to help him.

It didn't happen

I called tonight to tell you.
But I can't lead with this
so I asked about your day.

And then, when I thought
I would tell you what happened,
I wondered what I expected you to say.

How would this go?
How could this go anything but awkward?
What could you possibly say to make this okay?

So the syllables tripped in my throat
and the words painted pictures in my memory
to sad to feel again,
to broken to put together
in a description for you,
so you could wonder
what to say,
to me.

I didn't tell you.
And I won't.
And I will swallow the sounds of the letters
that make the words
of my memory.

And tomorrow
I will go on
as if this
didn't
happen.

Return

It shouldn't be like this for long.
He is having problems with his stomache.
New food, new place, new stress.

She put a diaper on him today.
She changed his soiled clothes.
I changed his soiled bed.

Then we sat with him while he slept,
and talked and slept.

He didn't know it was soiled.
He didn't know it was a diaper.

This should pass soon.
But it will return.

Strange building

My dad is in a strange building
talking to chairs
and plants
and pictures,
surrounded by strangers.
I put him there.
I decided
to take him from his home,
and move him
to a strange building,
where I will visit him
and then leave him,
in a strange building,
with strangers,
who are paid to care for him,
because I am not
anymore.
I do not know how to be
okay with this.

He is different

He is different
after only a week.
He doesn't seem to know us as much.
He doesn't ask us about going home.
He doesn't notice much when we leave.
He seems to be disappearing
further into the disease.
After only a week.
He is different.
He does not seem to know
us
much anymore.