Relentless

My father is dying.  Over and over and over I hear the words in my head.  Random times they appear, catching me off guard and stealing my breath and my energy.  Yesterday I opened a jar of pasta sauce and noticed that the expiration date is September 13, 2013 - my father's next birthday, a day he will not live to see.  My father is dying.  My father is dying.  My father is dying.

At night I hear it in my head and I cannot sleep, restlessly reading until my eyes shut.

There is no rest.  My children take up my time and my care.  What time is left to me slips toward the chant until I cling tightly to something else lest I simply slip away.

There is no rest.

There is beautiful storm outside.  The door is open and I feel the wind, hear the thunder.  I want to close my eyes and drink in the power of the storm, but all the while there is the chant, and the terrible sound of children's TV holding me here.

There is no rest.