My dad had his health problems yet was retired and living a simple, single life and still could drive. He did not see a doctor regularly. He had an emergency situation almost a year ago, and naively I think I believed the next time would be a similar emergency, not death. I am his nearest relative, and I checked on him regularly. We talked, I would do his laundry, so he did not have that chore, and I tried to counsel him on ways he could gradually improve his function. But I also wasn't going to override his desire to live alone and independent--he was comfortable with his low level of involvement, and I feel I had gotten comfortable with it too.
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He was one of the only people who was a continuous patron of anything I did creatively. I have been upset that so little has come out of my high-minded intentions to write. To write a full novel, a screenplay, a memoir...The furthest I have gotten in many years includes lengthy series of chapters for several projects, some short stories and poems. I don't mean to say I am not glad for the achievements I have, but now it feels especially hollow.
One of my biggest problems is getting, or being willing to provide the things I write to an audience. I have to push it out in addition to having something complete to push out. Even telling people that I am grieving is following the same erroneous pattern; Just because I published his obituary does not mean everyone has read it and knows. I have to actively inform people to get the expected reaction.
I am a little perturbed that,in this whirlwind of preparations related to his passing, I have let some of my favorite WDC Birthday activities (the Masquerade, as example, in which I played Mr. Thomas Crown) undone / unplanned for this year. It feels like one more good intention that I have left alone,and come to find the opportunity has passed.