luckyrabbit

Last week I took emergency leave and flew home to be with my family. My father was in the hospital again. He doesn't look well. I worry for him, and I worry for my mother. How hard it must be, to watch the man you have loved your whole life fall apart, to watch him decay. She stands by him, a pillar of strength, caring for his every need, working 12 hr shifts as a teacher assistant. Getting paid barely anything for her years of experience. She explains to me, "I need to find a way to make the grass grow here".
"Why Mom, the moss and dirt give it a woodsy effect".
"Woodsy effect?", she laughs, "No I need to make this house marketable. If you father dies I won't be able to afford to live here".
Not that he works, he is on disability. She would lose that little rancher house. The one where the garage door has rotted almost off it's hinges, all the imperfections making it perfect. Where the yard is covered with American flags. Little and big American flags, to which my father explains, "We put them there because we are proud of our daughter in the military." A response that puts my foot in my mouth after teasing them for having so many. I find myself, as always, in the fires of rebellion. No, I will not let him die. No, I will not let them lose the house. No, I will not see tears in my mother's eyes anymore.
and quite as usual.. I pour my heart to those who can not see or touch me. I blockade all the rest from knowing anything personal.
I have found myself, since my return from home, contemplating death. What happens when you die? what do you think?