Drift Away

Wendy is sitting in her car, mentally exhausted. Between the two jobs, raising her children and this. This. She is drained, at her very limit. But she is still here, taking care of her father. Fate’s cruel twist, a father, kind, bright, loving, doting – now crippled with Alzheimer’s. She is still holding onto the steering wheel, as if she were holding onto that last bit of willpower to continue. She lets go of one hand, then the other, inhales, exhales. She is ready to see what is left of her father.

She enters the retirement home, and a familiar and foul odor floods her nostrils. She smells urine, rotten food and pine tree scent in the air. Her nostrils sting and flare at the stench. This is always an unpleasant experience. Wendy walks down the hall, ignoring the sounds, the wails, the pleads that come from passing rooms. An old lady blocks her path, mistaking Wendy for her estranged daughter. She talks with her, and listens to her sad tale. She excuses herself and continues on.

She reaches her father’s door. Breathes in, breathes out. Wendy enters and looks at her father sitting there, gazing into nothingness. She calls out to him. He doesn’t respond. She goes to his side and touches his shoulder, whispering, “I’m here, Daddy.” He gazes back blankly. She clasps her hands in grief. She still misses her father. Wendy then props him up, fixing his pillows, anything to make him more comfortable. She goes around the room and cleans up. Turns on the television to his favorite channel.

Once she has finished all her chores, she returns to her side and begins to talk to him, tell him about her week. No response. She is ready to leave and plants a gentle kiss on his cheek then looks at his face. There is no twinkle in his eye. A tear rolls down her cheek. She told herself she had stayed so strong for so long. But no more. Wendy sits down in the chair and breaks down sobbing. Wendy buries her face in her hands, and cries, for the first time in years. Not since her mother died. Not even when her husband left her. Not even when her family got evicted. She had stayed strong. But not now. This is the limit.

She feels a weak hand upon her back. She looks up, and sees her father staring intently at her. His eyes are sparkling with tears. Wendy gets up and embraces her father, a deep, longing hug. He returns the embrace. Then his grip weakens, and she can see him fading. He looks like he is merely falling asleep, resting in her arms. And so he drifts away, not in solitude, but comforted by his loving, doting daughter.