I will give me dad credit in that I probably have more of his and my grandfathers mind and genetic makeup than my mom. Mom's side is deeply religious, follows the rules, and tends to stay inside a very tight box called which is nice, but certainly won't provide you too many highs or lows to test yourself. My dad's side of the family, well, there were some characters, of which the more I learn about my family history, my jaw hits the table. But my grandfather was a bit of a wanderer, and I certainly took after him after reading the adventures of huckleberry Finn from mark twain.
Life is never the same, not so predictable, and continually changing in a dynamic path versus the predictable box where people think they can insulate and control their lives.
I write this as two days ago, dad was on death's door. He hasn't eaten in four days except for a piece of swiss bread he loves that somehow made it through customs. If you google this blog about a $216 pie pan, you can add $69 for an 8 franc loaf of bread and USD 59 to ship it over. it cost was offset by an old man smiling from ear to ear and merely saying, "get the butter and some milk!"
This is a typical moment in the world when medicines were amplifying anxiety, and it was merely bat-sh*t-crazy for a few days where it was simply painful to watch.
Today, dad got some sleep, and he wakes up and wants eggs and toast. It is the first food he has eaten in four days.
So I am making the breakfast, and my mom comes in, "what are you doing?"
"Making dad breakfast."
"He can't have toast! “
With dad, I can give a massive amount of headroom to his behavior because most of the time, he can't help himself. With mom, she gets headroom for the process of grief and working through the process of loss and the inevitable finality of dads mortality, but dad gets his toast.
I mentioned to dad that I might have to try some of his medicines with what is a bizarre yo-yo of life and death.