How Did I get Here

A man with taser hooks in him. I've never seen that in real life. Scary.

He was going crazy in the street. He was running back and forth wild and naked, stopping only to repeat a few phrases of Michael Jackson's famous choreography from selected concerts and videos. The cops couldn't restrain him. They tried mace. He was too strong. They tasered him. He was high on PCP. He was sitting there covered in his own shit. Snot and tears everywhere. Moaning that he wants to go home. Handcuffed to the bed. He had to use the bathroom. The nurses tended to him with care and caution because he could do anything at any moment. He was tattooed all over. Bloody all over too. Wow!

In the bed next to him, my father. He had been rushed to the hospital because his blood pressure was sky high. 209 over something. That's very high. He was numb on one side and when I got there he was slurring his speech telling me that this all started last Thursday.

My father: When I woke up I was stumbling and dizzy. I was feeling numb and heavy on one side. I couldn't grab the things I was reaching for and I thought perhaps maybe I was having a stroke. So I took aspirin and my blood pressure medicine and went back to bed. I checked my blood pressure when I woke up again and it has gone down so.

Metch: So is not the end. Why didn't you go to the hospital or call someone? It's Tuesday Poppy. Look at you.

My father: I am here now, so.

Again with the "so." Luckily his friend who just dropped by to see him yesterday insisted he go to the hospital.

The cat-scan confirmed that he did indeed have a stroke. A mild one they said.

That was not good news. He could have been paralyzed the doctors said. His blood pressure went down for a minute but then it was back up, this time 211 over something. UGGHHH!

How the hell did I get here? Just immersed in his life and his need. Running in to do what? Save the day? It always happens like this. I have to go help him fill out some paper work, or call some office, or fix some thing, or just fucking be there…why? How? All this for a man who has been M.I.A. from my life since, I don't know, FOREVER.

I hate myself in that moment for even thinking that. I hate myself for feeling obligated and for loving him because he does not deserve an inch of my love at all. He too is a selective memory abuser. To hear him tell it, he should be daddy of the century but if you refer to any entry I've made in Our Daddy Diaries you will see the exact opposite is true. I'm so tired and I am consumed with guilt about my feelings that are completely justifiable. It makes me sick.

All the sick people around me are making me sick too. I hate hospitals, they stink. Sickness stinks.

Bran calls I unload on him and he says, " it's okay Metch. A part of you needs to be there and that's why you are there. Your father also needs you there and that's why you are there." Comfort from a friend. I tell him how I am also feeling guilty because I have a shitload of sides to prepare for tomorrow and I can't believe I am even thinking about that. TOO MUCH! IT'S TOO MUCH.

I look at my father and he looks pathetic not because of the health issues but because he is so happy that I am there. He proclaims to all the nurses and anyone who will listen that I am his baby girl and he is so proud of me as he lists my simple accomplishments(does he even know how any of those accomplishments were possible)…oh please, give me a break. Please? I am about to implode and explode at the same time. T-Bone calls. She makes me laugh my ass off about what I don't even remember. I just remember laughing. Then MinDog begins texting me. One text says, "where is your dog child when you need him?" The laughing continues. I think about what a beach would be like right now, how the sun and sand would feel and I am happy…for a moment.

How did I end up at his side, again? It makes me sick. He is sick and I am worried.

When the doctor asks him to get up and walk he looks feeble. I have never seen him like this. Is he about to die? Is my fantasy relationship with him never going to be realized?

Do I really have to care? No matter what the answer is the fact is: I do and he does not deserve it.

He is human so I guess on the general human level he does deserve to be cared about. He is my father. A deadbeat father and I care. I hate him. I love him and I hurt. I hate hurting.

Eleven hours later I have set him up with food, all the numbers he needs have been programmed into his phone, I have all of his stuff that is of any value… I go in his wallet(because why not) and there are SIX pictures of me and a picture of my mom that I have never seen before…WHAT THE WHAT? Now I am home. Home and thinking. Why does he have a picture of my mom in his wallet? Shouldn't he have a picture of his current wife or something? And why does he have SIX pictures of me in there? Only two in the designated picture holder thing and the other four in four random slots…I am feeling guiltier than I was feeling before and I can't really explain it or anything else…a picture of my mom? Really? WOW!

I am going to sleep for a few hours and then get up to bust my ass on these sides…

Why God? Why?

I am so worried about alligators, in this moment I'd rather die than cry.

Feelings, I banish you.

Then I cry.

TO BE CONTINUED…