Lost in my moment

Lost in my moment

I have been lost in my writing moment these last few days. While it is a great way to honour my gifts it does mean I forget to connect with people. Neglect emails and messages and generally end up in a "huh?" when I do pop my head out. For no reason I can fathom I couldn't sleep last night. I saw 4 am for the first time in a long while. Then I had crazy dreams. So this morning feels particularly bright and loud.

My father-in-law was taken into hospital yesterday, something I didn't find out until about 4 am when TK, who fell asleep downstairs, told me when I went to drag his bones to bed. Pops has been on his way out a while now so it isn't surprising.

I got a message about some incense using herbs and resins that, well, stink and when I read it I was just confused. I think I am still confused. Maybe it is lack of decent sleep. Maybe it is that sad feeling that we make things harder, more bitter and difficult than they need to be. Echoing our battle's with Pop's. He is actually a kind and sweet man, but he is stubborn and heartsick. After TK's Mum past we were relieved. The abusive relationship and the living hell she put him through were over. Yet he spiraled in a depression so dark and deep that he refused to eat, sleep, take medication. We battled for him so hard for years and even had him live with us almost 6 months. He fought us every inch of the way. He almost died 4 times and each time it was me that talked him down (or into hospital) saved his leg (though not his toe). Yet nobody wants to deal with him, acknowledge his illness (serious some mental health medication 3 years ago could have add between 5 and 10 years to his life). We fought so hard, for so long but he doesn't want to live. Nothing we do, or say, or shout or show makes him want to. Yes he is a gross old man who doesn't smell great, because he is too proud (or ashamed) to let his carers wash him properly). Yes he is difficult (seemingly for it's own sake) about medication, diet and doing anything positive. I remember him. Holding the step ladders while I was heavily pregnant and painting our new tiny house, because I am also stubborn. I remember him pulling faces at Ken's birthday meal. I remember talking to me, because I just gave him space and really listened. Oh and they were great stories. 

Why do we make it bitter and fearful and difficult? Why do fight so hard? After the last time I got him rushed to hospital, and I carefully and with great intelligence and small cutting words made the doctors keep him in hospital, I knew then that it was the last time I would fight. It is his life, and his choices and while I know he is not well in so many ways other than his physical health I have to let go of the difficult, the bitter and hard. 

I let him go, I let him go in peace. Knowing that it is what he wants, what he has wanted for a very long time.