TAKE ME HOME

Mary:  Have you seen how many pills Dad takes? My god!

Cara: The neighbor found him the other night. Weeping on the corner. Didn’t know where to turn.

M: How'd he get out there? My god! Who, Hal?

C: (shakes head) Hobart...

M: Shit.

C: Is he alright? ...Dad? Dad alright?

M: ...wiid swings, Hard to tell what's him or the meds talkin’. He swings hard in every direction...he called me a bitch whore cunt last week. that all I wanted was his money...stealing his life... and I was a disgrace to the family name. I cried for a day...maybe two...that one dug deep. But the nurses love him...just the sweetest old man....

C: Playing his fucking games again...

M: Always.

C: Should we get them all reviewed? Interactions or combinations? Side effects...

M: Yeah..again? Then what? Another round of something new that makes it worse and gives him grief. He's got enough going on. We've been through this enough...

C: What if we take him off?...Entirely?

M: He asked me that the other day. Woke up from his nap , his head still on the pillow, like it came to him in his sleep, he asked me straight out 'what if I stop the pills? Will I be in pain?'

C: I've seen him. He winds up tight like a ball of ropes, curled up inside himself clutching on to who-knows-what? Just tight stringy muscles, like ropes  wrapped around sticks, tightly bundled. Is he eating?

M: No. Some days he's ravenous, but, in general, no.  His day nurse...

C: Diane?

M: Yes.

C: I like her.

M: Me too. She asked if anyone has told him he can 'let go, now'? I told her that I've told Dad dozens of times - 'if i could end this for you, I would'. He was hurting and begging to go. I think he's afraid. I'm not going to judge him...

C: Says he wants to go see Mom...his 'dear wife'... that's what he calls Her to the nurses...what bullshit.

M: I know. But they had some good years in there...

C: Poor Ma. She didn't know.

M: Poor Mom. That fucking disease...

C: Should we take him off? ... Hospice?

M: I think we should have that talk.

C: With him? You think...?

M: I'd say, in the morning...when he's clear. He drifts out after lunch, and is a bastard at night.

C:Same pattern as last time.

M: Only worse. Less coherent. More angry. He can't tell 'sleep' from 'awake' so his anger carries over...

C: He said "this isn't the way it's supposed to be...".
 I said '...god doesn't let us make plans..." He calls me a smartass cunt bitch whore.

M: (ugh)...he's so fucking hurtful

C: He says 'If My Mother could see me now...she'd take me straight home!'

M: Momma's boy. Scared little Mama's boy.

C: Mean ass bully

M: ...and a mean ass bully,

Somewhere along the line, something got damaged. It was all rearranged....all deranged...wrong, yet erased from memory, just the same. In the grave before life's passing, a sad and lonely witness, to his own declining stage and ultimate demise.