death of a parent

today I realized my father is not invincible
today I realized my father is aging
today I realized I will outlive my father

death is imminent and his health is deteriorating
his memory no longer sharp but he is only forty-two
his weight is catching up to him
he lays in bed or on the couch, propped up on pillows
heating pads and ice packs strapped on
trouble sleeping, trouble staying awake - because of the pain

his knees buckle under the belly he can't seem to lose
frustration and sadness,
all written or splattered across his eyes
he is not lazy, he is in pain, too much pain

the danger of too many pills
the danger of exercise that will strain him
he cannot exercise until he loses the weight
but to lose weight he needs to exercise
he needs to work but his pain won't let him
I must work, Gabriel must work, I must work

he is depressed by this prognosis: evident in
his ever-present anger - always waiting to be baited -
the self-pity and the guilt and the worry

death, or something like it, lurks by the door
will it knock? will it break down the door?
will the pain ever be too much? will the pills?
afraid of losing control, he struggles with every step
to remain in control so he slows down, calculates,
will my father answer the door or cower from it?
will he open a window and win some time?
will he escape long enough?

the death of a parent is an expected one
a death we as their children should be prepared for
parents are old, they might get sick, and then they die
but not like this, not pain, not so early, not incapacitation
not loss of life's quality
the death of a parent is a dreaded one

today I saw my father struggle to sit or stand
today I saw my father struggle to use the stairs or walk
today I saw my father collapse of exhaustion
today I saw my father use a cane