My time has been devoted exclusively to The Old Goat these last two weeks. He was falling. So, I took him to a doctor who referred him to the UAB Hospital, Neurosurgical Section. After ten days of testing, they concluded it was hydrochephalus. Yesterday, a drain pipe was installed in his head and today they cut him loose. Now, I am wondering how he will make it on his own since he can barely walk unassisted. TOG has claimed all of my time in the last two weeks. I missed a number of meetings with my job with the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network (ASAN). In fact, I missed the Georgia Organics/ASAN conference this weekend. It is the cost of having an aging (or is it ageing?) parent. I drove to Birmingham every day early and returned to Welch late. By the time I got home I have enough time to close up the chickens, feed the animals before going to bed.
I think my life is on hold for the time being. I hope my employer will understand. Truth is that my Dad and I have never been friends. My brother, Tinker, and Dad are big buddies but I guess I was a Mama's boy. The Blessed Saint Rebecca and I understood each other. TOG and I clashed ... often. Sort of ironic that now, all these years later, I seem to have responsibility for his care. I am learning something about what my own old age will be. Certainly, I don't expect my children to care for me. It is for that reason that if I make it to 75, the day I do, I am going to the store and buying three or four cartons of cigarettes and all the Scotch my truck will hold and I am going to commit slow suicide, with a great deal of joy. Nothing good happens to the body after turning 80. Trust me. I am seeing this truth every day.
You can't help but feel a pang of sadness for TOG. For so long he was a full-bodied, energetic, able man. Now he can barely climb the two steps into his house. If nothing else, he is instructive.
