Extinction

The day before my father died, a gentle nurse aid washed and shaved him with sensitive and professional care. Unlike his son, my father was a strong man who never complained about anything or ever voiced a concern for his own well being. Despite the gentleness of the nurse aid, I saw a single tear in my father's eye. That tear will haunt me until I'm finally lowered into my own grave and a day never ceases to pass that I don't meditate on that solitary tear in some kind of lonesome gloom. The day after my father's death, I took my mother downtown to see her neurologist because her extreme form of Parkinson's disease was stealing everything from her: her ability to walk, talk, to even eat. Her very loving and kind doctor comforted and consoled her, massaged her and practiced some New Age mysticism on her. as my mother wept inconsolably under the immense weight of grief of losing a spouse and herself by degrees. I continue to listen to music and to make my way to church, I still attempt to converse with the opposite sex, but there's really nothing that means anything to me any longer. I don't pursue any goals or obligations, I have no real desire to bond with anyone. I merely patiently await for my own extinction. 1: 12AM 8-26-2016