Beyond work today, I watched Dad sitting there, in that chair, as the fluid spread down the plastic stream connected to his arm. The IV, with it's evil-goodness dripping into my father's arm, aimed at the bad armies and the good armies fighting for control of his body. From the nurses notes, we know that the bad armies have taken control of more ground, and only time will tell with the battle plan swings things back into our favor. Sun Tzu says to pick the hill you are prepared to die on. This is not the hill. It can't be. We are all too young.
There we were, the Sisters and I, just watching his tired soul in the chair. He looked the same, fairly, as he did when I saw him a month ago, It snowed that day. I didn't wear a hat. I never wear a hat, oh except for baseball hats. Logos that scream an allegiance to this team or that, fulfilling my male need tor a connection to sports. A religion of a sort. Something to scream at the TV for, or even better to scream at multi-millionaires playing boy's games while us fans sit in the stands, ever present, paying for this privelege to cheer them on. Yes, let's all cheer for the slow, dripping liquid. It's our team. Let's wear our team colors, would those be clear, somewhat milky overtones of poison dripping down into a fabulous, molecular shaped logo? And what would the Sisters do? Would they wave blood red pompoms, wear iron-clad skirts to protect from the radiation. Oh, that part was so long ago, but I remember. That was just the beginning and what we thought would be the end. It lay in wait, like any careful combatant. It bided it's time until it was ready to strike again. We are at war. And in some ways, our only weapon is hope.
Posted by robdesign at January 9, 2004 08:44 PM