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"He was placed on sedatives due to his underlying health issue." Mother leans forward to whisper. "The doctor says he would like to keep an eye on him for a day or two."
Father had a heart attack a little over a year ago. It had greatly impeded his mobility for some time, and he had to go into Physical Therapy.
"You all talk over my head like I am not here," Father says, irritation coloring his voice as he attempts to sit up.
Mother steps forward and gently pushes him back onto the bed.
"You're not strong enough for that."
"What do you mean I'm not strong enough to sit on my own?" Father glares.
As a young boy, that hard glare always made me want to shit my pants. But now, they just make me slightly uncomfortable.
Mom matches his glare.
"I am saying that you lie down and wait for the medication to do its work. There's no need to attempt gymnastic."
"I won't be attempting gymnastics," Father growls.
Mother turns toward me, completely ignoring the old man.
"I was about to get food for him. Thank God you're here; I can do that now, make sure that he won't attempt to leave the bed unaided."
Eli has found a recliner chair and is a little busy on his iPad, probably playing another game.
"We will wait," I say with a lopsided smile.
Even though sitting here alone with my father is going to make me a little uncomfortable, I don't mention that. Mother does not have to know.
"Please don't do anything drastic until I return," she says to Father, who now has a look of hurt crossing his face.
"Honey, you heard the doctor. It's just stage-two cancer. I'm not on my deathbed."
Mother nods as Father grips her hand in his.
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Piping hot coffee and a cigarette."
Mother glares.
"Be serious, Baron."
"It's the only thing I'm in the mood for."
"You're going to take coffee and whole-wheat toast," Mom says determinedly, and she leans forward to drop a kiss on Father's cheek. With that, she gets up and makes her way out of the room.
Father chuckles as he watches her leave, eyes filled with love and affection.
It's funny how I used to think that I was never going to experience the kind of love that they did. Well, I've long since been resigned to the fact that true, unconditional love isn't meant to find everyone.
When Father returns his gaze to mine, his eyes are still filled with that warmth he's directed at Mother.
"How are you, Son?"
"I'm all right. How are you?"
"My damn back hurts," he complains, "the doctor says it's lung cancer." His voice is a low whisper now.
