4.

there is a peace in forgetting. my father is living proof of that. a man who dragged a lifetime's worth of weight behind him can finally spend his final years in some peace. if he happens to get worked up about something, he'll just forget it later, unable to return back to it as he did for decades, hackles raised and teeth bared worrying at something till blood is drawn.

of course there is also danger in forgetting. like today, when he didn't remember to wait for the train staff to assist him in getting off at his stop. his senile shuffle and unreliable balance, more unfortunate relics of his brain tumor, conspired against him on the steps to the platform and he fell to the ground breaking his hip.

we are past the beginning of the end for him. i've felt that for a while now. and while i know he'll make it through surgery tomorrow, and will carry on shuffling about the world as soon as he is able, i wonder a bit, how much longer he'll have. i feel like a traitor to admit it, but i've carried around a feeling since college that he wouldn't make it to my wedding, though now, the keener grief is the even likelier possibility that he won't ever meet my children.

i can't really change the future as much as i'd like to, so instead i'm taking a page from his book and am doing my best at forgetting. forgetting all the weight i've carried between us these years, forgetting all the things i wish'd i'd done or said or asked – forgetting all those insidious, paralyzing regrets. instead i'm calling him whenever i can just to say hi. ask him what movie he's watching. tell him, again, that i am still in seattle. making sure i say i love you even though it's not the smoothest phrase between us. i am spanning the distance of oceans and continents one small gesture at a time.

there is peace in forgetting. and however much longer my father has amidst the chaos of a body slowly betraying itself, i am grateful he has finally found some peace at all.