Today I venture home after spending the last several days in Virginia. I am frustrated with leaving before I can truly talk with my father, as he is still hooked up to a machine that is doing most of his breathing for him. It breaks my heart to see him lying there, tubes everywhere, leaving him inconceivably uncomfortable and unable to communicate easily. He does do quite a good job with his eyes though, pleading with us to get these tubes removed from his throat. I understand, as I was right there in the same ICU unit, having a ventilator breathe for me, just four short years ago. How I wish I could do something to ease his discomfort.
It was reassuring to see his eyes light up with joy and surprise when he first saw me. I saw how much he truly adores me, flaws and all, and that our last disagreement had been long forgotten and forgiven. The entire nine-hour drive from Louisville to here, I kept replaying our last big fight, the one that had taken place only a few short weeks before, when I had visited last. I had said some pretty harsh things, things I swore I would never say, disrespecting him the way I did through untruthful words of disdain.
I had promised myself long ago not to engage in these sort of brawls with him, knowing full well that he is set in his ways, and though I may talk until I am blue in the face, my words will never persuade him to think otherwise. Especially in regards to my lesbian life-style – this is a futile disagreement – agreeing to disagree will be the most amicable resolution we can ever endorse. Knowing that his health is not what it used to be, I decided long ago that it was not worth the risk of our last words to be of any other fashion than unconditional love and respect. Feeling certain that he will come through his latest health pitfall, I will make certain to withhold this agreement with myself, and fight no more, at least, not about things that neither of us will willingly concede to the other.
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