The Unwelcome Guest

No one remembers exactly when the silver visitor appeared or where he came from. No one admits to inviting him. But there he was, leaning against the bedroom wall. Shiny, sleek but not welcome. My father especially was not happy to see him and yelled for someone to escort him out of the house. But mother paid no attention to his demands. She was secretly relieved to see this guest, knowing at some point, he would become more than a visitor. 

Maybe this caller was not appreciated right this moment, but eventually his presence would be helpful, even required. My father shuffled past him without a glance and sometimes muttered curse words under his breath in his direction. But the visitor was patient. He knew it was only a matter of time. 

And then, late one morning, my father fell, like Humpty Dumpty. Only he wasn’t sitting on a wall, he was in the bathroom, spread eagle on the floor, with his trousers bunched up around his ankles. Now, if you are young, you may think that is hardly worth mentioning. But if you are 87 years old, recovering from a stroke, thin, brittle and frail, it is a big deal. He could not get up and my mother was not in any condition to be of help. The ambulance was called and off he went to lay in the emergency room for hours. Four fractured ribs and blood pooled under the skin, causing nasty looking bruises and erratic blood pressure, was a result of this latest fall. My father, a ghost of himself, lay in the hospital bed, allowing the busyness of life to go on without him. Decisions were made, plans put into motion, his cantankerous disposition quieted and, in its place, more troubling, was the “I don’t care” attitude. 

After weeks of rehab, my father was released to go home. He shuffled into the house and plopped down in his lift chair. He heaved a sigh of resignation and asked me to bring the unwelcome silver walker to him. He grasped him by the arms and heaved himself up. The walker smiled to himself. Not that he was happy my father was disabled, but he was good at what he did and was proud that he could support my father. The walker would do his job and do it well, giving father the assurance he needed to get around. Before long, you could not see one without the other. One may even think in the end, my father and the polished silver walker had become friends.

 

Submitted by Hope ONeil