11.3.26 - 67 - Day #6

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The days are spent looking after Pa and making sure he's comfortable. Researching how best to keep him going. He seems to need so little. Everyday he gets more feeble. The moments he is alert he is alert, but they are far and few in between. I've devised a system to keep him hydrated. Getting him to drink every hour and a half. Getting him up to make sure he isn't getting any pressure sores. He seems to be transparent, but also heavy - so heavy to move. Our bones really are heavy.

Sun sets in the porch of the house, as it has done for all these years. We were in 1985. It feels as if no time has passed at all. I remember eating pizza off the floor when we came here to clean the house. How energetic and vibrant Pa was then. I was 15, so he must have been 41. At 41 my father bought a house and he was so proud of it. He and Ma were so proud of this place. We were meh. It wasn't the largest house we had ever seen, and it was nice, but over the years we didn't realise how nice it was. How it sheltered and looked after us. How conveniently it was placed. Last year, I walked with him to see the park which was just round the corner. He took ages, but he walked all the way there. Then I thought, oh dear, this is terrible. Now, I think, wow the walked all that way. It is really like some reverse process.

After his excursion to the toilet today, he was as weak as a newborn and then I saw the moro reflex take place. I was astonished. As the spirit and soul take longer trips... and leave the etheric and the physical body... I hold his hand and he gets weaker everyday. Further and further away. I'm here Pa, I say. Here, always. 

I know that he will be everywhere, everywhere after this. But still, it is so hard. All those wonderous memories. 

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