The doctor says he has days.
Only days left.
But he doesn’t know.
We can still fix him.
Maybe the pain meds are too high.
They’re making him sleepy.
He’ll get up if we change the meds.
The doctor doesn’t think so
but we know it’ll work.
But it doesn’t.
And another one of his days goes by.
It happened so fast
that he must just be sick.
He stopped going for walks,
then he stopped eating meals
and now he’s not getting out of bed.
But it happened so fast.
We need to change his medication
Maybe he needs some tests.
He’s just sick.
We can make him better again.
Right?
I stayed in his room the first night home.
I slept in a chair,
all curled up
with my head dangling to one side
in street clothes
and listened to him rasp for breath.
Shana?
You need to come home.
Something’s wrong with your dad.
I don’t want to keep writing.
For there is nothing more to write
except for his death.
I will now write how my father died.
Shana? It’s Mom.
The girls at the place here say he didn’t eat supper last night.
I tried to give him some bites of lunch
but he wouldn’t eat.
We gave him one of those ensure drinks.
I’ll talk to the doctor Wednesday, when he comes here.
Yeah, hi.
I talked to the doctor.
He didn’t have much to say.
Your dad slept all day yesterday.
Didn’t eat anything.
I’ll come back tomorrow and see if I can get him to eat.
