The Little People(pg.7)

     My life was adrift between caring for my dad and now my own well being, the residue of this melancholy was running through me like some curse that was misplaced because I thought that only happened to bad people, I was a God fearing man, Lord only knows. I became our dad's watchdog, everything he did was on my watch, it seems to me that the rest of the family turned their backs on dad, either moving on with their own lives or burying deep the past of their sick and alcoholic father.
     Dad nearly died on many occasions, once from a shot through the chest with a self-inflicted bullet from a .22 rifle, then a coma, followed by endless upon endlessly drinking binges that wore upon him harder than the last, each convulsion became worse than the following one, he became erratic in thought and forgot many things, he truly wanted to end his aggravated life, this was ultimately the bottom line.  
     How my poor mother kept it together still is a mystery to me, she endured more than most endured in three lifetimes, she wanted to leave dad many times but only stayed on because she loved him and our family. She was the greatest mother on earth, always gave up her suffering to God, her only salvation was to Him the one who wrought all this misery. My thoughts on God have changed dramatically over the years if a God imposes this kind of grief on one family, then what kind of God is this? 
     Dad escaped death each time like Houdini, each feat greater than the last, and like Houdini embraced death like a warm jacket, this went on far too long, tight-roping death isn't glamorous and it surely isn't pretty looking at it up close. How long I thought can dad survive this game because to him that's what it seemed to be. Every single day was a troubling day for me because dad trumped everything before his last act, nothing he did really surprised me anymore, you grow to expect the unexpected, plan on seeing the most obscene, and accepting the things you can't change, much like the Serenity prayer we were taught at St. Thomas  School. But, breathe in the vastly despairing melancholy, it shall never leave you.  

                                                                         7