On his 18th birthday he kissed his mother goodbye and went off to support the war against Japan. Then came a PhD and three children and the death of a child and two divorces and a comfortable retirement; and now he sits in his chair most of the day watching TV because it's so difficult to move. If it weren't for the frequent trips to the bathroom necessitated by prostate cancer therapy, he might not get any exercise at all.
He gave up driving a few months ago for fear he would fall asleep and hurt someone. He takes a blood thinner to reduce risk of stroke and has to hire help in the shower lest he fall and bleed out. He has someone check that he takes his pills correctly. And now they tell him he needs dialysis.
I see him making himself cheerful when I visit. He's outlived most people he knows and can barely walk and has started to forget things. He has so many unfinished projects. He's still an amazing font of technical information and gentle humor but his world is shrinking, conforming to his rooms and to the petty complaints and vacuous observations of the old people he has meals with. His brilliance is fading, his many bookcases gathering dust, his small daily decisions relentlessly giving way to larger decisions that will affect the quality of his life and how much longer he will live.
It’s funny. My ex-wife still harbors resentment against him for essentially abandoning me and leaving me little sense of self and no role model for raising our children. I did pretty well at that but I shared in her resentment for some years, and then a time came when I had to carry on and continue the search for myself. I don’t blame her for partially blaming him. But I don’t blame him anymore. With what he was given, he did the best he could, just as I did, and now he’s an old man who can do nothing about his old mistakes and I have found I have nothing left for him but forgiveness and love.
