(no subject)

On a cold day in May - that's how you receive bad news.

I called my mother last night, to do, and she tells me that the test is conclusive, my poor father has Alzheimer's disease. She's no use answering questions, there's no prognosis, timeline. It's just uncertainty all around. I talk about it until I can't with her, and then I just go to sleep.

He's been fading for so long, and he seems so fragile. I'm going to be asked to say a lot soon, soon he'll be dead. I mean, I thought that. My father, the doctors say, has a fatal illness. I don't know a thing about it. I don't know if I'll have time to even find out about it. My poor old man. I'm going to be asked to eulogize, I know it, I think about how I'll try and remember, here, as practice, and then I think, he's here still, and I. I just don't know. My poor old dad.

I've missed him from before now, that's the truth, the poor guy. Now he's dying though - and fast or slow? What will happen?

It's a sad day in May, and cold.