the waiting room

it's a state of disconnect, a game of touch and go, day by day step by step. listening for the door rushing open - the slam of the screen, heavy footsteps, surprised smiles and it's "where were you?" but knowing all the same. it feels like an in between stage, these unreal nights of dinner on my lap and mom near me on the couch, watching foreign films and turning in at 10 o clock. the hours dragging at our eyes and hearts and our hands constantly waiting, trying not to forget the angle of your shoulders, the scar above your lip, the tiny bumps of cancer in your inner arm and between your collarbones. i work and diet and write and read and feel asia pulsing in my blood but above all i wait for the door and the greetings and the return of normalcy, of you and mom and davey and i, wine on the patio and the trips in the van, video games and petty arguments, hugs at night and morning coffee. there's more than this, it's coming, it's under our skin, sunken into our bones. we wear this anticipation like worn clothing, something always there, familiar and safe. we wait for you to come home, hang your coat, and tell us about your trip.

dear dad

when the weight of your absence hits me it's like a punch in the gut
i sit in your car and listen to dire straits and cry
sometimes at night in that still secret place i wish i could be with you
just to see your blue eyes and kiss your cheek
hear you call me "princess" again and give me a hug
i miss your jokes
i miss your strength
even when you'd get frustrated at me
when you'd be politely mean to telemarketers
and always tell mom and i that our meals were great
even if they weren't
i miss driving places with you
the mall
williams
swiss chalet
i miss planning trips
hearing your advice
even when i didn't want it
going downstairs in the morning to see you in the living room
you in your big green housecoat
newspaper on your lap
cat on your chest
coffee in your hand
i miss your smile
your silly faces
playing guitar hero with you
and singing "slowrider" afterwards for weeks on end
i miss you so much dad
i say goodnight to you every night
tell you i love you
always hoping you can hear me up there
that you just somehow know
maybe one day this will hurt less
but until then i miss you
i love you
til we meet again,
danielle

we miss you, dad.

LAING, Alan Murray
Passed away peacefully at home with his family at his side, on July 14, 2008 in his 61st year. Alan is now with the Lord after a valiant battle with cancer. Alan will be greatly missed by his wife Caroline and his loving children David (Tory Westbrook) and Danielle. Lovingly remembered by his parents W.A. (Al) and Agnes (Daisy) Laing of Thornbury and Caroline's parents Marcel and Georgette DuPlessis of Quebec. Greatly missed by his sister Faye Young (David) and his brothers Bill (Diane) and Jim. Fondly remembered by his niece Katie and nephews James and Joe. Alan retired as an Air Canada Captain after a long aviation career and was extensively involved in the betterment of community organizations and the Air Cadet Program. Friends will be received at the Graham A. Giddy Funeral Home & Chapel, 280 St. David St. South in Fergus, on July 17th from 2-4 & 7-9 pm. Funeral Service will be conducted at St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church, 325 St. George St. West in Fergus, on July 18th at 1:00 pm. Memorial Donations can be directed to the Air Cadet League of Canada, cards available at the Funeral Home
(519) 843-3100 www.grahamgiddyfh.com

throw away this wrinkled map

each morning is a mess of tubes, the steady pump of oxygen and the overwhelming heaviness of illness. i'm tense until i get to work where at least for seven hours i can pretend to do something other than worry, other than ache to my bones with hopelessness and fear and sadness. at the end of the day it's still there and his heart still beats and i'm ashamed of my despair because he's not gone yet, he's in the bed and i can ask him if he remembers this trip and that concert. he's confused and asks for water and all i can do is cry and grieve the loss of conversation and memories and the strong, proud, intelligent man he once was, now lost to the blur and murmur of pills and morphine drips.

embro

today was the embro highland games - we placed third (out of four, haha) but as cliche as it sounds the important thing was we had a really good time. or at least i did. after a few beers and botched attempt at lead tip during the final massed bands. needless to say it was a fun day, i got lots of sun and texted old friends and didn't have to think about anything painful for a very long time.

my dad's coming back home at the end of the week. we're getting a hospital bed and other necessities tomorrow morning. we've moved around the living room to accommodate these new articles of furniture and it feels weird just being in that room now, even without the new bed and everything else. i can't picture seeing my dad in his bed in there at all. i feel guilty because part of me wishes he could be in palliative care just so he'll be taken care of 100% perfectly and smoothly, any little problem can be fixed immediately there. with him at home it's like always treading on thin ice, anything can go wrong at the drop of a hat and suddenly it's panic central, like maybe he'll be in pain for a long time til we can get a nurse or doctor in the house. that scares me so much. at the same i need him to be home so there's some remote sense of normalcy and so i'll be able to spend as much time with him as i can. i hate this whole situation and even having to mentally sort out things like this. nobody should have to go through this.

friday night we did the relay for life. we were rained out at 2am but everything leading up to that was amazing - the luminaries, the laps, the good conversations with old friends - all of it. i'm glad that i could be part of something bigger than myself, and do something proactive instead of just watching my dad get progressively weaker and weaker. at least i feel like i can have a little bit of power over this, raising money to help find a cure. maybe my dad won't ever benefit from it but if i can contribute to saving somebody else's father, mother, grandma, brother, friend, whatever, then it's so worth it.

back to work tomorrow afternoon, bunch of stuff to catch up on but i can't seem to wrap my mind around going back to the every day, mundane tasks that need to be done. one foot in front of the other.