A Tethered Kite

9th December 2011 Friday

This morning we wrapped and packed up and dismantled all furniture and belongings in my father’s old room.

Bedding in black plastic bin liners, pictures in soft towels, the TV in a duvet, books and files in cardboard boxes, shirts and coats in suitcases, bleach and loo spray and glass vases in carrier bags, mayonnaise and walnuts and frozen roast beef in cool bags. All masterminded by my sister, carried down the stairs by my brother and my husband, loaded in the van by my brother-in-law. And driven away to be stored at their farm. Just leaving the big round table and the bed in the middle of the empty room.

We have told my father he won’t be going back to the life he had in this room. It takes all his energy and breath now to walk from the bed to the chair in the small space where he finds himself confined. He says he feels like a ‘tethered kite’.

I know it’s not my job but I wish I could cut him free.