It's so sad to see someone's mind gone. It really is. But his hallucinations tear my soul in halves for other reasons as well--more specific reasons. The content of his new reality displays a delusional hope not only for recovery, but also to be a part of my life during a time when he'll certainly be gone. It's hard to articulate what I mean. In diction, precision always eludes me. I guess I'll just let him talk.
Dad: "As I understand it, I had a very dangerous biomedical drug--took a shot in my hand last week. Now there's a very good chance that it will kill me very quickly. But if it doesn't, I'll be out of the woods."
Me: "daddy do you know why you're here?"
Dad: "To see my baby. and it worked. If I make it a year, I can be with you as you start your practice-- doing really important stuff like answering the phone calls. Help my baby out in her business. What's going to happen is that literally I'll be answering phones."
[I don't want my own practice, probably ever, but whatever]
Now, some might be expecting a Snotty Alice Cooper Part III after what happened a couple of nights ago, but I actually held it together pretty well. I was even able to play along. I told him that, in addition to his very important telephone duties, he also needed to be pleasant and give people sodas. I've grown alot in one day, apparently.
By the time I die, I hope that my sincere effort to seek and face the truth has paid off. If so, maybe my brain won't kick into survival mode and start creating some new world to help me make peace with myself before myself is no more. More than that, I hope otherwise generally-honest people won't have to lie to me--in some twisted act of love--to keep me believing my own lies.
He looks so scared, like a tiny child lost in the dark. His eyes have that look as though a flashlight just turned on, shining right into them. I wish I could make the fear go away for him.
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