Saturday, October 11, 2008

So my Dad...

So my Dad had a bit of a breakdown today, speaking more openly about his failing eyesight.

He turned 80 this summer and has a laundry list of ongoing ailments ranging from diabetes to kidney disease. He's had a rough run of it and is not exactly been the most pleasant person to help.

My father is the sort of person who thinks no one else ever knows anything and refuses to listen. We all knew for a while now that his eyesight was going and had been trying to help him adjust. He gets pretty obnoxious when you offer assistance.

But men in my family do not adjust to change well. We get into patterns of and think that simply how life is going to always be.

So yes, he broke down and said out loud his eyes are going. We'll adjust, make changes as best we can.

Making changes is not giving up, doesn't mean you're weak. In fact I think a person is stronger if they are willing to say: "There is a problem here, let's do something about it!" I will do what I can to get him to start thinking that way.

He has another appointment with his doctor on Monday, we'll get more info then. It is was it is. But he and I must have a serious conversation soon about getting help in place now for the days ahead. He always refuses to engage me in such conversations. Now there really is no time left to sort things...

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Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away