1st November 2011 Tuesday
Tonight my father is in a hospital bed. It’s a cottage hospital - small and friendly. His own doctor will visit him - do blood tests, adjust his medication, relieve the peeing situation. Just for three days. When my sister and I leave him this afternoon he is trying to learn the names of all the nurses who are looking after him.
Later, after a toasted sandwiches in a draughty cafe, we walk along the sea front at Sidmouth with our sweet niece, the sun blinding us, the sea a churning red clay cauldron. I’m holding on to the feeling of lightness, relief that my father is not alone - in safe hands. But of course he always has been - it’s just that I forgot they don’t need to be mine.
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