stranded

"It's heavy," my father said, looking at me as he lifted the doughnut from the clear plastic the half dozen had been sold in. I knew what he was getting at. A proper dougnut shouldn't be so heavy. These weren't really doughnuts, but your typical cake ring likeness. Not terrible, but not a real doughnut.

I used to care about that sort of thing, back when I used to eat donuts. Donuts and coffee were a favorite breakfast of mine, once upon a time. I was discriminating about the sort of donuts they were, and my father knew that. For the moment, he remembered it. I appreciated the glimmer of who he was, the reminder of who he is, still in there somewhere.

His behaviour makes sense now. Last I saw him was before the pandemic locked everything down. I had some idea, but I had no idea. My sister didn't articulate it to me. Aside from aging about forty years, he's also not the same person he was six months ago. It's difficult to discern why. Maybe Parkinson's disease or neurological damage from the chemo. The sodium deficiency really brought it to a head.

He can't carry on any sort of conversation. Questions have to be very simple and direct. He gets confused when his own sentences are longer than a few words, but he's sometimes cognizent enough to realize he isn't making sense. He knows he's having trouble thinking. No fucking wonder he didn't call me.

My entire life has been devoted to taking care of him since I got here. My sister works from home, and and aside from that, so has her's. My father's also having serious balance and spatial awareness issues. On his good days, he can barely walk. When his abdominal pain gets bad, he doesn't understand why the doctors can't cure a stomach ache. He talks about seeing more of the island when he's feeling better. I don't tell him that he's only going to feel worse, but I'm afraid my tears give it away.

He seemed better equipped to deal with this months ago, but now he's in denial. Naive, almost child like. We can't have any deep conversations about life and death. I just do my best to comfort him.

I had to cancel my flight back home. My sister is trying to get some assistence from what they call "integrative care" here in Hawaii. My father's beyond regular care, but it's been a challenge to get him to agree to the transition. We've struggled to even explain to him why we need to do this. We're also working on giving my sister authority to make such decisions for him. Which scares the hell out of me, but there isn't another option. I can't do it from Vermont, and I can't move here. 

I can't leave either, until I see that they're getting more help, because there's no way my sister can do this alone. Due to the pandemic, trying to get my departure date changed was more expensive than getting a refund and buying a new one-way ticket. So now I'm here on this island in the middle of the pacific, without a ticket home.

Oh, and down to $200 in the bank. My sister has been paying for everything. On the one hand, I'm thinking I should head home as early as Monday. On the other, I'm thinking how the hell am I going to leave at all.