Return to...?

I think sometimes of what Dad is still facing and it forces me to breathe in for extra air. Yes, there are physical challenges, such as a loss of 40% of his muscle mass. But that's nothing that some PT and normal use of his body won't rectify.

He awoke from weeks of fitful slumber and bad dreams into a sort of real nightmare. Right now, he has no home to return to. Which does not, in any way, discount the home he has with his family and friends, but that's not the same thing and I know it.

In some ways, the limbo he's in can be a good thing. It'll help with the habits he wants to kick. Like smoking. Right now, of course, the hacking of gunk throughout the day helps him not want to actually breathe heated smoke from a cigarette into his lungs, but the urge? It's come knocking a few times. He's readily admitted it. So, it's kind of helpful that he doesn't have his own porch to go out to, sit down with a cup of coffee, and have a habitual a smoke. I know for a damn fact, that right now, if Dad managed to lose his mind and actually get a hold of a cigarette somehow, Dixie would tackle him and wrestle it out of his hands like it was a live grenade about to go off in his face. Maybe it's extra incentive for him. To know that, if his own will power gave way, he'd get body-checked by his older sister. Because, let's face it. That'd just be embarrassing.

But no home. The home built by his parents. The home in which an 11-year-old Dixie helped to fill nail holes with wood putty when they built it. No stuff. It's all burned or ruined. No sense of place.

Of course, as far as I'm concerned, you could take all his stuff and my stuff to boot, and light it aflame right in front of me and I'd let it burn if it meant he got to live. So I am not lamenting the loss of stuff. I'm musing on the difficulties yet to come for him, finding where to place his feet as he moves forward in all of this. So much esoteric work for him to do, and he can't even rely on his favorite thinking spots. Could it be a blessing? We all have our own opinions on this, but only he will know for sure. Fifty-four and starting over. Again. What will it be like this time?

I know you wonder why he has not posted himself. He hasn't even been able to read this blog yet. He knows about it, but it's all still pretty overwhelming to him. Dad's doing a great job of living and working through present moments, though, so I'm happy to let him take his time in circling back for six weeks of time in the past.

I love you, Dad. You can do this.