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chaoticset (2105)

chaoticset
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JAPH. (That's right -- I'm not Really Inexperienced any more.)

I'm not just here, I'm here [perlmonks.org], and here [javajunkies.org] too, I ramble randomly in my philosophical blog [blogspot.com] and my other blog [blogspot.com]. Soon I'll come in a convenient six-pack.

Journal of chaoticset (2105)

Friday July 11, 2003
10:55 AM

The Old Man Of The Mountains

[ #13390 ]
That's what my father calls himself sometimes, especially on answering machine messages.

This morning as I struggled with waking awareness, Reabena said she might not go with me to see my father this weekend, and I asked her why.

"I don't know if I can see another hard old man die of cancer."

And I shrugged that off -- told her what I always say, what some of me always believes, which that he can't die, how could he? How on earth could he die? I'm still convinced he can outrun me.

And it occurred to me that she thought the same thing about her grandfather.

I gotta say that there is, in my mind, the belief that technology will prevail. That my father, the guy who got hit with machine gun fire and winked at the medics when they loaded him up for transport, will never die -- he'll just get parts replaced. That the state of the art in transplant technology will save him if he can survive just a few more years, with a new heart and a new leg and a new set of eyes and a new whatever he needs. That eventually he'll be a brain in a plastic-and-steel contraption that looks exactly like my old man.

So I found myself singing a song at work, as I am wont to do at times, and realized that I don't even know all the lyrics, or the name of the song -- I just know that my father sang it all the time, and that I'm going to miss him when he's gone.

I have to go compose myself. I'm not crying much, but I don't know if it's going to get worse or better at this point.

I know I will miss my father when he is gone.

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  • That was wonderfully honest, in the way too few things are.

    Thank you for letting me read it.
    • It was very hard to write, and harder to submit.

      And I'm going to see him tomorrow; and what on Earth do I say? What do I do?

      What can I possibly do?

      --

      ------------------------------
      You are what you think.