A Temporary Pause

I fly home back to Chicago, thinking about my visit with dad, staring out the window, looking down to see the ground but all I see is black.  No blinking lights, no sign of clouds, just darkness.  I gaze out in front of me and I can't think about anything but the future.  As I gaze back at the window I think about my last visit.  For the first time in a long time, I had a visit that was not catastrophic to the outcome I had in mind, that I know will come.

I know I should be excited, ecstatic that symptoms have not progressed but I am always wondering, what about next time.  When will the shoe drop.  When I was home visiting, I couldn't help myself but look through pictures of the past.  Seeing my dad at his prime, alive, smiling, doing was he does best by running money through the Casino's  reminds me of the man he was.  The best pictures were seeing me with dad walking the dogs, dying Easter eggs, walking the Ocean City boardwalk,  being lazy on a recliner and opening Christmas gifts.  These are the moments I smile and remember that no matter what happens, I had a great childhood.  He might not have been the best husband, but no one could ever blame him as an absent father.  He was a man of many adventures but always had his children in mind.

I know the memory problems are there I am not in denial.  I know that I escaped this trip without much artillery needed, but I also know that is short lived.  I realize I can't always count on every visit that my father will be in the same state of mind that I left him.  I know that the clock is ticking and that every second is a blessing.  I am so fortunate to have this time with him, to experience his greatness and to understand and listen to his stories.  I couldn't imagine life without him.  This is my dad, and I am fighting until I can't fight any longer.  This is my stance even when it's dark, gloomy and hard to see.  This is family and I will fight even in darkness.