the good fight

* death is a process of many stages, and dementia can be one of the ugliest … Dad taught me many lessons in life, and he fought to the last to retain what sensibilities he could. I miss you, RT. * ~ oh Dad, how I wished you realized how much I longed throughout life to garner your touch a spare arm to steady me some, here-or-there or perhaps a rough tousle to mess up my hair a shoulder-ride wouldn't’ve been such a stretch an hour for fishing, or a quick game of catch maybe taken by hand for a walk on the beach a soft pat on the back, with a lesson to teach a high-five to follow some baskets with you or even a, (gawd forbid), warm hug-or-two perchance, a kind touch to blot a stray tear how I longed for just SOMEthing, year-after-year and, now that you've lost your volition to live my resentment is waning for what you can't give thus I’ve made that decision to push it away and I go to your bedside again, to just pray ... your dementia can't realize it's me who’s nearby so I settle my head on your chest ... and I cry my tears wet your t-shirt but you’ll never know while I weep and I whisper, "I can't let you go" I know there's a reason, but it’s one I can’t find why we have to lose you, as you lose your mind thus devoted to family and God each good day now you fight as your dignity slow-strips away as you don't seem to notice that I'm even there I tell you “I love you” while I rise from my chair I straighten your pillow and you give me a sigh (I've annoyed you again), my eyes are now dry I drop your hand gently when my visit is done to my shock you hold on, say "I love you my son" I turn back around, kiss your forehead goodnight "please, watch over him, Lord, he has fought … the good fight." Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, May 7, 2024 (rewrite)