|It's my third visit to daddy in as many months. I almost can't remember how bad this used to be before, in those ancient days before January 2018. It's many things now, but all of them are pleasant, and none of them is frustration or fear. And that... makes all the difference.
We enjoy each other's company. We enjoy the similar level of intellect, and our shared absolute fascination with nature, history, archaeology, science - We sit hand in hand, watching the National Geographic channel and stopping every few minutes to discuss it, share awe or reflections; we enjoy music together. He's not a very good listener, my dad - that is, I know he used to be amazing at it with his patients, but with me, or maybe with the years and the ADHD, he's less so. Still - for the fee days I'm here I can handle the frustration, I think, and besides - I feel how much he's trying with every sentence; with the respectful way he apologizes and stops when I say something about it. I'm no longer treated as a voiceless child; my feelings and thiughts matter here, now. it's... invaluable.
I wouldn't be able to enjoy this if I didn't have the tablet though, the option to take a break for an hour or so and just be alone a bit - or be not-daughter me, gamer-artist-wife me, Adonis a different person with a different set of priorities. I never thought a tablet would mean liberty, but it does. It is.
He was really depressed when I arrived. I don't know how to handle it; he raised me to think of him as all powerful and absolute everything; a god. What do you do when your god is sad, or scared, or growing dad up with a body too damaged to use and a mind that might start faltering? If I think about it I'll end up useless. So I don't; I just came here to be with him a bit, and that seems to cheer him up quite a bit. That feels so nice.
I know there's the inevitable coming, at some point. It's been my biggest fear for the past 12 years. But it's inevitable, and I'll have to survive it, and we speak of it openly, without drama, guilt or impractical feelings, and I'm proud we can talk about it this way, but I'm alsopetrified of the day I'll look back on those talks and the tragedy will feel as if it's too much to bear.
They say nothing's too painful to bear; that fear is worse than the thing itself, that when then shit hits the fsn we always have the emotional and mental resources to survive it. I disagree with that; what good is surviving a trauma if you end up too damaged? Clinically depressed, perpetually triggered, socially incapable? Is that even called surviving, if the traumatic reaction doesn't fade? And what I'd we find out that no, the pain is too great to bear and you'd sincerely prefer to make he choice to end all pain rather than keep living? Those are unavoidable questions if you're a sane, intelligent adult. It doesn't do any good to delve and dig them, though, I think; I thinks I'll just find out by living, and hope that I don't end up on the unbearable depression side of statistics. And until then, I think sits best to enjoy whatever time we have together, now that we found each other again, and simply focus on the improbable wonder of that.