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The depression
By juliezavala in My Turn
October 19, 2010

Image I miss my mom. She was a good woman and a good friend. Sometimes the sorrow just wells up inside me and I feel this desperate need...for what? I'm thinking that only a hug from Mom could make it better. Well, maybe a hug and a chance to sit at her table with a fresh cup of coffee and joke and laugh like we used to. Dad doesn't know she's gone. He was there when she was sick and dying and he was at her funeral. Out of all the realities, he's chosen to blank this one out. I don't blame him one bit. If I could I would do the same.

Today I took a break from work and went home to check on daddy. He was in his room with the sitter, listening to music and talking. He was doing alright at the "hospital". That's where he thought he was today--the hospital. He told me to close the door when I went to make coffee because he didn't like how other patients stopped and stared into his room. After coffee, I had to get back to work so I kissed him and told him I'd be back around 6:00 pm. He said, "When you get home we'll call your Mama and ask her when she's coming to pick me up!" I played along with him, "Yeah, we'll find out what the heck is taking her so long..."

When I got home this evening Dad was restless. It was time to go home, he said. I told him that my brother had his car. I managed to distract him with some of his chewing tobacco and later I fixed him supper. Afterward, he settled down to listen to music with me. Dad told me about his father who died of tuberculosis when dad was young. His dad worked for Santa Fe railroad and he contracted TB from the bums who were in the railroad cars. Now I can't be positive of all these things. My dad tends to embellish his stories a bit these days. Anyway, talking about the bums made my dad think about the Depression and how awful it had been. He told me how his mother always shared food with the poor people and how she worked so hard after his dad died. She had to support a lot of kids--there were seven in his family.

He was still talking about bums and the Depression after his shower. He talked about it all some more while I was tucking him into bed. I turned his favorite music on to distract him from sad things. I kissed him goodnight and told him we'd have fresh, hot coffee in the morning. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him. I do; more than I ever realized. Especially since he's come to live with us and I've gotten to know him as a person and not just my Dad.

Tomorrow I go to work at the newspaper but Thursday and Friday I get to work from home. That suits me just fine.