an hour or go til this meeting is over with. social services outcome of investigation into complaint made about G.L.W., my father. not a number, old person, dying person, dead person, non-person, doesnt matter anymore person.
will take notes. wont respond immediately. my mantra. feel pathetically useless, wondering why i am doing this, no, i know why, he was treated so bloody badly and he is my daddy...was. is.
*sigh*
two days ago i sipped a bit of his leftover morphine. this is really getting to me. im a middle aged mother that should know better, but im sinking in this rut.
i thought daddy would die, then i would grieve. instead, im left with no tears, a lifetime of bittersweet memories and dust to comfort me. dealing with people that dont care. and yes, im 36 and scared and out of my depth. and i am not ill, i am not suffering physically. im feeling sorry for myself.
so how did he feel, painfully ill, helpless and at the mercy of the carelessness of others? how can i let that go?
