little cat feet

My time in California is drawing to a close.

I'm ready to head to my little home in San Antonio to greet my old dog, possibly plant fall flowers, and continue the experimental arts of creative writing and seeking true love.

Since arriving, my mother instincts have been in full force, tentacles attuned to the fragile and complicated mess of my father. This time, at least in certain moments, I was able to know his pain, confusion and loneliness as if they were my own. This knowing, helped me set aside exhaustion and annoyance, repeat myself with a smile, schedule and reschedule appointments and wheelchair transport, make sure his caregivers cut his fingernails, etc.

My compassion has been further stretched by events and ailments of others. The day my father came back to life in the hospital, a friend of his - of the family's - jumped off the penthouse deck to his death on a second floor balcony. It took all of us by surprise and the grief in my dad's retirement community is thick as fog.

Meanwhile, my dad's lady friend Adie AND a childhood friend of mine have cancer throughout their bodies. Adie perfectly coifed and stylish with red orange nails to match the outfit for her grandson's bar mitzvah, becomes breathless when walking and grimaces with sudden pangs of pain. My brilliant middle school friend Karen is still teaching her own classes of middle-schoolers, hoping to reach retirement and survive her 91-year-old father before things get too bad. I think Karen will visit me in San Antonio and I will make up the bed in my little studio / guest room.

In two days I will be back in my bungalow with it's weedy lawn, towering pecan, and windows that let in the day. And I will be content to have a respite from the fog.