4-30-08

Loyalty, respect, self-care, mythology, conversation, about
death.  Impending death, and a father who
has been ill for almost 20 years, off and on. 
Is it a codependent game, being sick so much?  If it is, should I be resentful?  Probably not. 
Should I jump on the bandwagon of my sibs in desperate concern to see
him, party with him, the LAST time?  I’m
just not sure.  Should I be honest in my
conversations about, well, his body is just wearing out, and it might be past time
for him to go.  What should I do?

How the hell would I know?

Love is kind, love is not jealous, love is calm, love is a
listening powerful force.  Love does not
criticize or judge, love does not analyze or try to figure things out.  Love allows the most simple “isness” of the
other.  And the feelings that that rise
from this “non-action” that is so uncomfortable in a do-gooder naughtier
catholic girl’s life, is sometimes so puzzling. 
I know there is nothing to do, I want to do something–if anything
completely escape, hide, run–but what to do when you’re not doing anything is
weird.

I guess that’s why I write. 
It is the perfect non-action doing. 
When I sit doing nothing, I express all the feelings and frustration
about not knowing what to do, knowing that there is nothing to do, wanting to
do something rash, wanting to let the addict take over, not wanting to feel the
sadness that there is nothing I can do.