No more monkeys jumping on the bed

It happens to all of us. Our parents die. First one and then the other. I remember when I was little I was so scared of that happening. I would cry and wonder what I would do and how much I would miss them. My mom died ten years ago. At the time of her death that's all I could think of. I missed her. I couldn't call her anymore. I didn't have anyone that knew me like she did. Before her body wore out the last years of her life were good ones. She was my mom and my friend. She would tell me how my dad called paper plates cardboard plates. When he would drive through McDonalds he would order french fries. He wouldn't say he wanted fries. He still says cardboard plates and I think of her and laugh. Every morning she would drive out here in her little blue Ford Escort. It was like having Santa visit everyday. Donuts, McDonalds, toys or clothes. She would take the kids to preschool and sometimes Judy would ride along. I'm glad I had so much time with her. It wasn't enough. Now my dad seems to be heading in that direction. Seems to be because he usually pulls out of the dive in the last second. He's been doing this since he was twelve. Sixty-nine years ago he had polio. He was just a kid. Iron lung, spinal fusion, full body cast. Being in a wheelchair watching all your brothers, sisters and friends walking and running around. I picture myself at twelve and wonder how did he get through that? He's like Clint Eastwood taunting God saying, "go ahead, make my day?" He's up. He's down. He's on the edge... He's going over... Donald Keagle refuses to leave the building! He's bullet proof. He suffers way too much. Why? I don't know. You don't know. We don't know. Every time he gets sick I have this feeling that maybe this is it and he'll finally be at peace. Each time I was sure he was dying. It was only hours away. But he didn't. He's like one of those clowns that you punch and it pops back up. What will I do when he doesn't pop back up. Is that time getting close? He's in the hospital with a little of everything. He's tired. He's hurting and hanging tough as he always has. We miss not having him here. We miss not making him feel good. He has lived with us for four years and he's part of all we do. What will Betsy think? She looks forward to her mornings with him. We all watch the Price is Right and then the news. She brings him lunch sometimes, cookies that she helped bake at Marybeth's house. It makes her really happy and him too. This weekend while Robert was working outside he wasn't on his deck watching. He wasn't inside in either of his chairs. We never asked each other where dad's button was. He wasn't there. I walk in his place and it's not sweltering. It's a weird feeling. At times having our life being put on hold for him has been hard for me, hard for us, but I know it won't last forever. There will come a time when we can do what we want when we want. We'll never have to worry about going to the store if he hasn't pooped yet. We'll go to the late show and not worry about him being alone. After 8:30 we'll make noise, do laundry, slam doors, listen to loud music. We'll be free but it won't feel good. I'm going to cry for a long time. I will go to his place and say, "dad, where are you?" I hope that he will be at peace. I hope my mom was there when he arrived where ever it is you arrive. He deserves a rest without pain and worry. We'll just have to see if this is the final chapter in his book or will be be saying, "He's up!"