May was supposed to be a good month. My cousin Paola’s daughter, Barbara, is getting married this month. In addition to being born on my birthday, she is also a writer, theater lover, Living in Ontario, her gift list is filled with books. I’ve watched all her progress via my cousin and am chuffed she’s marrying a history geek!
Following that, on Memorial Day Weekend, I’ll be heading to Balticon 2026. Hopefully, I’ll be invited to a few panels again – still waiting on assignments, etc. – but I’m looking forward to attending. Hoping to catch up a few friends, collect some autographs, and the like. No new books, though. Saving up for the fall.
But all that has been derailed.
My father has been recovering from two hospitalizations stemming from COPD and congestive heart failure. He’s at home, and doing better. Our hopes are that he will eventually be up for assistive care as opposed to time in an assisted living center.
It has been rough. We ended the RSVP for Barbara’s wedding – though she is still getting gifts worthy of a theater kid and writer. My weeks have been spent acting as a relief valve for the family, helping where I can. My wife has been amazing, plying her pharmaceutical and, unfortunately, hard earned experience with declining family members to assist.
But the real heroes are one who won’t get as much recognition as they deserve:
My sister is a nurse educator, and a pediatric nurse. She spent her whole career working with the most vulnerable of us all. In the last few weeks, I’ve seen her in a state where she wishes she was back in the Peds ER because they’re so much better at being mature about their conditions than an old Serbian man. But she’s a hero and she’s taken on the burden of care for him until he’s off his antibiotics and no longer has an IV line.
The other hero is my mom, who’s spent five decades caring for us and my father. These last few weeks have been hardest for her. Lack of sleep. Lack of clarity. Wondering what is going on with every cough. If he will recover enough to not need constant care. She cries from exhaustion, and joy when she sees small moments of beauty – like fresh flowers. She keeps trying to hold everything together – keep him fed, keep the household paperwork going – while having this lay atop her.
They deserve the world. So I’m doing what I do – I’m recording their work. Everything they did and will do to keep my father healthy, comfortable, and strong deserves a memorial.
It’s a cold May. None of the usual joy. But there are great moments of very human care. Quoth Patton Oswalt: “It’s chaos. Be kind..”
Biomechanoid Blues 