old man, little boy

so many dr visits. i can't imagine it. poking, prodding, scanning body parts, searching for any signs of cancer anywhere else in his body. our family is changing.

watching the marriage and the roles between my parents is more revealing each visit. she, though not much younger is the young wife of an old man who is sick. she is active, he is passive. she takes charge and tells people what to do. he follows the orders, or did, for many years. i wonder all that he's kept inside. all the moments he didn't say no, or do it his way. i wonder if he is truly happy. was he? how many years has the cancer of unhappiness been growing within him. he has fueled it with stiff drinks or many a smoke outside, out of the house where we kids were growing up. out from her watchful eye. and to this day, no matter the diagnosis, the seriousness of all he faces, he continues to exert his silent voice. this small, yet debilitating demonstration of independence he claims. still outside with that smoke and still medicating with his own libation of something over ice.

he is a man i've admired my entire life. brilliant beyond measure, gentle, kind and observant. he is the one who sang to me each night for as long as i can remember. he is the man who carried me on his shoulders any time i raised my arms, the one who checked under my bed for monsters, the one taught me so many games, games i now play with my son. yet who this man i admire? this man is like a child in many ways. he is stubborn and obstinent. he does not want to do as he is told. he is scared, pissed, disappointed. he would never disclose this. and yet i can see it in his eyes. the green eyes no longer sparkle. they look vacant despite the smile he can draw upon request. i wonder, will he fight this fight?

today he is undergoing more tests and more visits. one was with a nutrtionist. who chided him for all he isn't doing. all he doesn't eat. all the vitamins he doesn't take. "boost your iron, boost your protein, eat every hour, if you don't do this you won't survive what's ahead. we have to get your body ready for all it is about to go through. not doing this preparation is not an option."

today my mom vents. she, unlike my dad, keeps nothing in.
today my dad sleeps. continuing to keep it all in.
today i am sad for this old man and want to protect the little boy inside him.