Visiting My Father

Today I woke up while it was still pitch-dark out and went to get on the bus that would take me to the bus that would take me to the bus that would take me to the ferry.

The first bus came late, so I missed the last bus, the one to take me to the ferry.

Guess how much a cab costs from Airport Station to the ferry. If you guessed fifty bucks, congratulations. You either take more cabs than I do, or you, too, have missed the bus and Had To Be On The Ferry. I am thinking of invoicing Translink for the cab bill.

Anyhow. My aunt picked me up, and she was full of a lot of advice, as she always is. Luckily, I was content to listen, having little energy for anything other than seeing my dad.

He looks awful, but Sue, his girlfriend, says he looks much better than he did two days ago, and the doctors are pleased with his condition. He’s still morphened-out and in a lot of pain, but he seemed pleased to see me. I brought him a model of a ship to put together when he’s feeling better, and a DVD. The physiotherapist came in while I was there and made him get up and shuffle down the hall with a walker. He has to clutch a pillow to his chest when he gets up so he doesn’t break his chest open again.

I realized something watching him struggle to get out of bed: I do not like to see my father in pain. I hate it. I would rather have the pain myself than see him in it.

I also think that this might be the event that crumbles the wall he’s built in his head between me and his girlfriend. She and I chatted for quite a while today. If he can figure it out that I’m okay with her, and she’s okay with me, it’ll be easier for him.

My aunt drove me to the ferry with an admonition to take the coach bus. I did.

And then I was back in Vancouver and it was all normal, except that there was a trio of viking wizard bluegrass buskers outside the Beer and Wine store, because it’s Hallowe’en.

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