I sit and ponder about the mundane details of my life, laundry, ironing, food shopping, the standard boring stuff. Sometimes the act of doing these things causes stress – correction – these things always cause me stress but I get on with it, carry on, keep walking, running, crying through it all until it’s done. Then I deserve to sit down and have time to myself with my own thoughts that housework cannot interfere with.
These moments that are often pleasant and calming to me can suddenly become sour. An unwanted thought creeps over like a black rain cloud to cast a shadow over my ‘me’ time. These thoughts are anything from a word I embarrassingly pronounced wrong the other day, to the extreme imaginings of my fathers death.
My father’s not well and hasn’t been for a while now, one ailment after another, he barely clings to life with emphysema, diabetes, worn limbs and increasingly deteriating general health. A part of me wishes his suffering could end the ultimate way, another unrealistic part thinks that he will live forever. I see these thoughts as a preparation for the inevitable, that I will know how to deal with it when the time comes but it doesn’t make them welcome thoughts. They invade my mind, enter without knocking and won’t leave until the end.
The end is not pretty. In my mind the burial is the beginning of something else, potentially horrific, a major shift in life or in me. His death would be a loss that I could not recover from, and no preparatory thoughts would ease me through that pain to emerge on the other side a whole person.