3rd October 2008 - Beg pardon

Dad was a bit brighter yesterday. I managed to feed him a yoghurt, cup of orange juice, one of tea and another of diluting juice. We even managed to have a verbal exchange. He burped, after one of his drinks, and I said "Pardon" and he said "Beg pardon". When I left he was sitting supported in bed and looking awake.

That was yesterday.

Today when I went in this morning I met Pretti who told me how he'd eaten well the previous evening, even had some cheesecake and mince at tea time. Cheesecake and mince, hmmmm, nice. And she was going to get him through to the day room later that afternoon. So I was expecting him look as bright, if not more so, than when I'd seen him last.

He wasn't looking bright. Not bright at all. He'd scratched his face during the night and his face was covered in red lines and weels. I kicked myself mentally, because I'd noticed the length of his nails before and had meant to cut them - even got as far as bringing in clippers, but forgot to use them. He was glistening with petroleumm jelly that had been applied to his face to stop him being itchy. His mouth was gaping, his eyes have open with the familiar typewriter back and forth of his eyeballs beneath the lids. The smell in the room was the same. He wasn't for waking.

I clipped his nails, but he wasn't best pleased, pulling his hand away and grimacing. I don't think I could have been hurting him, I was being very gentle.

A woman knocked on the door and came in. I'd never seen her before, so she introduced herself as the home manager. She told me that he'd eaten well the previous day and that if I needed anything I should just buzz - and did I want a cup of tea. I didn't. I wondered if she'd been told I was in. Doesn't matter I suppose, she was nice enough. Stood at the bottom of his bed, straightened the covers, told me "At least he's not in any pain".

Whoever had woken him had put a CD on for him - the one I'd put in the machine three days previously. Opera arias and famous pieces of music. At one point Handel's Messiah was ringing in my ears... "For the lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah. The kingdom of this world; is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ and of His Christ. And He shall reign for ever and ever And he shall reign forever and ever And he shall reign forever and ever And he shall reign forever and ever"... oh yeah? Really? Really? And is that omnipotent God looking down on this shrivelled, skeletal, rotting man, a man who did very little harm, and thinking "You know, I think I'll let him stay like that a bit longer". Fuck off. Fuck right off. As Jim Royle would have it "Omnipotent my arse".

I really hope, though, that the last exchange I have with him is not "Pardon!", "Beg pardon". Now, that would be ironic. What a metaphor for our relationship, how appropriate that a stitled, pointlessly polite formality would be the last things we understand of each other.

See you tomorrow Dad. Maybe. Hopefully. Or do I mean hopefully not. Do I want him to go on like this? It seems unlikely that he's going to get substantially better, better enough to be able to have any quality of life. So maybe, maybe I mean hopefully not. Maybe I'm at the point of the man I met all those months ago who was hoping for his mother's death, hopefully waiting like an expectant father. I think it's time to tell my brother and sister.