Monday, February 9, 2015
I know, I know, you don't hear from me for ages and then two come along in a row, like buses.
I didn't intend for there to be a follow up post to my last one, but rather sadly the need arose.
Last Friday, a few hours after I'd written that post, I went to see my Dad in hospital. Thankfully he's getting a lot better and was actually sent home the day after, so on that side of it, things are looking good.
I wondered what things I could write about, what with my new found desire to blog, which usually rears its head every few months, takes a good look around then shits itself and goes back to sleep until the next time. And at some point in the wondering I realised I've got a trolleyfull of stories to tell you about my Parents' behaviour in these recent times. You of course, being Sri Lankan (which you most likely are), will fully understand the drama, pathos and total utter fucking madness that goes with a Lankan parent being quite seriously ill.
Anyhow, where was I? Ah yes, so me and the maternal unit arrived at the hospital some hours after I'd written and published my last post. The bed next to my Dad, formerly occupied by John, aforementioned subject of my last post, was empty with a few chairs scattered somewhat pathetically around it. It didn't take a Rajapaksa Government MP's gifted son to figure out that John hadn't survived.
I asked my Dad what had happened to him and he told us that he thought he'd died earlier in the day, the curtains had been closed and all the family had been there, then he'd fallen asleep. My Dad had fallen asleep that is, not John, he'd died of course.
It was downright weird as well as sad. There we were, trying to chat to my Dad about how he was feeling, his medication, when he might be coming home etc, when the bed next to him sat there empty, reminding us of the fragility of life and sentences that begin with "there but for the grace.."
I asked a nurse and she told me that he'd passed at around 1 o'clock that afternoon, with his whole family around him.
Throughout the visit I continually glanced over at the bed and chairs, thinking my random thoughts, not all of which were drum related. Not so many hours before the family had been through the mill. Sadness followed by elation, only to be followed by the ultimate sadness.
I thought I'd let you know, I suppose there's not much more to say. I wish I could think of loads more deep and meaningful things to say, but I'm not too good at things like that.
But next time remind me to tell you about my Olds and the stairlift.