Tuesday, 27 September 2011

17 hours

A beautiful day today, and as of this moment I've seen all of it. Every single minute.

I saw the birth of the new day, wearing the inky blackness of midnight, stealing in on silent tides. I sat and listened to the nagging voices of the wee small hours pointing out my shortcomings*. I was happy to watch the sun rise, burning off the mist and the doubts, promising warmth in the day to come.

And then The Dad stirred. He wandered here and there hunting for clothes, muttering about missing socks and generally being bewildered, although mercifully not in pain. For my part I tried to shepherd him in the right direction, to treat him with respect, trying to talk to the man he was.

He has a range of drugs to take four times a day that would keep Jimi Hendrix, Pete Docherty and Kerry Katona happy for weeks. Every time I hand him the small pot full of pills he looks at them like they're a mixture of Strychnine, Cyanide and Chicken McNuggets. Eventually he satisfied himself that they were acceptable and chugged them all in one go.

After that we sat in his kitchen. I'd fixed up a bowl of Weetabix and a cup of tea for him and as we sat there I chatted to him about what my plans for the day were.

He put down his spoon.

He looked me square in the eye.

He told me to give it a fucking rest.

After that, he carried on drinking his tea. I wandered into the other room and laughed hysterically to myself for a few moments. I went back in to tell him I was leaving for work, he smiled and told me to be careful.

All valid points Dad, all valid points.


* - Which is always fun, but to be honest they could have spent a lot longer on it. I thought the brief prĂ©cis that they supplied was very fair.


  1. I think you should have a go of his drugs, just for quality purposes etc