Losing.

My father is awake and talking. He seems to have returned to the state he was in immediately prior to the sepsis. It’s a sort of childlike state of basic needs and frustrations, inattention and confusion. But he’s still in there. He’s still my father. And based on the current state of this episode there’s no reason to believe he won’t live a few more years. But it’s hard to tell, obviously. He still has advance diabetes and heart failure. He still can’t take care of himself. Part of me wonders if it might not have been better for him to pass now, and not suffer more.

I’m 43 years old and I’ve never lost anyone truly close to me. Grandparents. But no siblings or parents. The closest thing to permanent loss I’ve experienced is a divorce, I guess. It was sad, but it was also a relief. It’s hard to know what death is going to feel like. I spent the week girding myself for it and then it didn’t happen. I’m not sure what to do next. Things proceed as they were.

I am moving forward. My big race is in two and a half weeks. I am, at the moment, fit. I have two more really long days this week: a 60 mile bike ride and a 12 mile run. I’m looking forward to it. Long distances are good, the weather is good. I’m fit and I’m capable for these. I’m excited, but I’m also feeling somber. And those are difficult emotions to reconcile. Such is life.