Nothing much left to say now I suppose. We can only wait. Wait and remember. I set the chairs up so I could recline next to Dad's bed with my hand under his shoulder. Once I was fairly certain I was almost as uncomfortable between those two chairs as he was on the bed, I closed my eyes and tried to think of my earliest memories of Dad. Two came to mind.
I was having a bout of nightmares. Little creatures disturbing my dreams. I was young, not sure what age, five maybe, and the first time it happened I woke with a scream. Both Mom & Dad came in. Mom went back to bed, but Dad listened to my explanation, stayed awhile, and let me know that nothing could hurt me as long as he was around.
The next time it happened I did not wake screaming. I knew I was safe. Still, I felt the incident should be reported to my protector. I walked into Mom & Dad's room and whispered, "Dad". It was as if he were lying there with his eyes closed, not asleep, but on duty, "What is it son?", he said instantly.
"The monsters came back."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, but I thought you would want to know."
"Thanks, let's go make sure they are gone", as he walked me back to my room, checked under the covers and around the bed before letting me crawl in. From then on I slept with the knowledge that HE never slept. He was just laying in bed resting, listening for the call for help, and those nightmares never came back.
While I write this he has stirred a couple of times to scratch is neck. I take his hand and put it in one of mine. With my other hand I rub gently where he needed to scratch and, the need being fulfilled, he drifts off again. He moans gently while I rub his shoulders and I stop writing to rub his lower legs and feet. There is a response, but I can not tell if it's from the rubbing or the thoughts roaming free in his head. We settle back down to the previous level of our discomfort.
In the second memory I'm a little older, maybe eight or ten. I had come down with the flu and late at night had to get up to puke. I was losing dinner in a most violent way and somehow he had heard me and was in the bathroom in a flash. I should have remembered...he doesn't sleep.
The puking came in waves and went on and on long after I had anything to offer. My body kept contracting and I hurt everywhere. After a brief break it started up again only this time I felt a palm cradle my abdomen. Honestly, my first thought as he knelt beside me was, "What are you doing down here? Just the smell of vomit makes me want to hurl. This can't be part of your job too, can it?" But almost immediately the pressure of his palm, so big and warm, so reassuring supporting me, made everything a little bit better. Once things had calmed down he helped me back to bed. Unlike the nightmares, I would puke again, and almost every time for years to come I would think of him and that great big hand supporting me.
He is stirring again. I cup my hand around his ear and said, "I love you. Everything is going to be okay."
He stirred and mumbled, "I wanna get up." He gave a great heave to pull himself up and then relaxed back into the mattress. I reached for his hand and rubbed his shoulders and could feel him squeeze my hand. I rubbed his belly, then tried his legs and feet again. It's difficult to tell what he is enjoying now. One of the aides came in to clean the room. It was close enough to the time for me to go anyway. I gently said good-bye trying not to wake him even though I know he never really sleeps.
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