I was in the passenger's seat while my mom drove. It was getting dark and cold outside. The sky was a dark streaked purple. Crows roosted on the powerlines and they watched the cars pass back and forth.
We were headed to Renova, the nursing home my dad was living at while he slowly died. He didn't respond to us any more. His skin was thin and yellowing more each day. His breath came out in small slow clicks.
I would sit in his room for a while and then go to the rec room and listen to the parakeets flit in their cage before going back to his room. The whole building smelled of urine and collapsing ruin, but my dad's room had a different smell that was completely his.
I leaned in to kiss him on the forehead and rubbed his head. My mom stood in the door and talked to the nurse.
"Isn't there anything you can do for the jaundice?"
"No ma'am. There isn't."
"Is his doctor going to come by?"
"He was already here."
I went outside to cool down. The crows skittered across the sky. I thought about "The Dark Half" which I was reading in between visits to my dad. I would go back in and sit with him and talk to him. The same clicking breathing. The same yellowing skin. The parakeets. The crows. The crushing purple sky. The days all ran together.
Trips to the nursing home, reading Stephen King, eating out. All of the time blended together. The only constant was my entire life was waiting for my dad to die.
(Photo courtesy of Flickr user NewMediaBrew. All rights reserved.)
