Saturday I went down to help my Dad out with a horrible chore. He’s not able to drive right now, who knows when he’ll be able to or if he’ll be able to but anyway…his dog that he had for 19 & 1/2 years died last month right before Thanksgiving. The vet sent her to a company to have her cremated and that company was suppose to mail the remains to my Dad. Well they mailed it to the wrong address but just admitted it to him last week so my hubby drove him out to the house which is also the house he had but was foreclosed on. We were hoping someone was home and could tell us what happened to the package or better yet had the package and this whole thing could be solved. While he was getting ready to leave I saw the amount of medications he is taking and asked him, “Do you take all of those everyday?” He explained to me what was for morning, afternoon and night. I then asked him, “Is medicare taking care of that huge cost each month?” No they aren’t, my Dad has to pay out of pocket for the medications, which by the way are medications that are keeping him alive. My Dad, a Vietnam Veteran, a man whom has worked so hard in life to just have what he has, is now paying money out of his own pocket so he can stay alive, so he can see his grandchildren turn another year older. There is no help through the government because he’s 62 and supposedly that’s too old to save his life. Well it’s not too old to me, I’d like to see him turn 70 or 72 before they give up on him. Hell I’d like them not give up on him! Anyway, when they got back from going out to the house, I went out to find out what happened so I could prepare for the coming tornado of my mom’s emotions if this didn’t go the way she wanted. He was drinking a beer. Ummmmmm Dad?! His response to me was, “I’m dying sweetie.” An awkward silence made the whole world stop for a second, I didn’t hear one noise right after he said that. I didn’t breathe for that second, I’m not even sure my own heart was beating during that time. I have never heard such a quiet silence in my life, never. “Well that was an awkward silence,” I said but then corrected myself and said, “No, an awkward conversation.” This is true alcoholism…he believes he’s dying so there it is…the rock bottom, death.
I need to ready myself for this truth, this quiet truth.