Battery Park

The Brownian motion of a spirit through this myth called reality.

2008/4/17

Today's update

@ 07:42 AM (3 months, 8 days ago)
This morning, he was in his home (in California). He couldn't find his ashtray- the one he had in his lap, the one he had JUST set a lit cigarette down in. It had to be somewhere, but it just wasn't around. Never mind that hospitals don't generally allow smoking.

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From Wednesday

@ 07:41 AM (3 months, 8 days ago)

Noone reads this, but should anyone come across it, my dad is back... extremely frail, damaged, and maybe not whole... but no longer empty.

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Shells (from Monday)

@ 07:40 AM (3 months, 8 days ago)
The body that lays in the hospital bed is not my father. The tubes that pour life into that shell must be feeding and breathing someone else. That can't be him. I know my Dad. I feel my Dad. I see it in his smile, his eyes, his attitude, even in his gestures.

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