Caught in Death’s Undertow

Our move to the South was spurred by my father’s declining health. He’s battled cancer for about 10 years and now faces the last stretch.

I anticipated keeping an eye on him—encouraging better eating habits, overseeing his meds, accompanying him to doctor appointments—and my husband anticipated working on art projects with him in the small barn behind my father’s home. We both looked forward to deepening our relationship with him.

But we came too late.

My father’s confrontation with the Very Grim Reaper is unfolding at breakneck speed. He has spent the past 1-1/2 months focused on his funeral and his legacy. It’s kept him busy certainly, but at the expense of the quality of life he’d planned for. Instead of taking short driving jaunts to the countryside and mountains, he’s been steeped in the minutiae of his funeral and the sale of his home after his death.

There will be no art projects—my father’s stamina is depleted. My hope for “better eating” has given way to “eating something” for my father has no appetite. Driving jaunts* will soon be out of the question as my father’s mobility deteriorates.

I’m in charge of the funeral service, for which I’ll create a program and deliver a eulogy. If my father had his way, both would be complete by now and in his hands for approval.

But I can’t bring myself to write eulogies for folks who are still alive—especially folks I’m close to. That time is precious and seems better spent in the present.

And so, dear readers, my writing on Lull continues to be sporadic. I’ll try to share tidbits and info worth your exploration, but longer posts will have to wait.

* My husband shot this pic of the Natural Bridge—one of many gorgeous spots in this state—on a recent outing with my father. Note: My father napped in the car while we hiked. He LOVES the comfortable leather seats of his minivan and would furnish his living room with them if possible.