I Cry

You know, every time I think about my dad I cry. I think about him laying in that hospital, all alone. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he would rather be at home, where he is comfortable. Where he can be with the people who love him and whom he loves instead of surrounded by strangers that know nothing about him as a person, only about him as a patient. Home, where he doesn't get woken up at night by the sounds of someone's monitors going off because they tried to get out of bed.

I think about how he has a fever and they keep him uncovered so his fever will go down. He's probably cold... but he can't say a DAMN THING because they've got that blasted tube shoved down his throat. He can't tell them if something is bothering him or if there is a part of his body that is itchy, but he can't scratch it because he has no strength.

I think about how, as a result of the cancer and all of the complications that go along with it, he has a hard time processing his thoughts. He knows what he wants to say but he just can't get it out. And I know he gets frustrated and mad... most of the time you can figure out what he's trying to say if you just give it time.

I think about all of these things... and I cry. Every single time.