And on it goes

It feels like the past two weeks have been lived in a fog. A fog of fear, fatigue, driving, sleeplessness, anticipation, and, at times, clarity.

So much time has been spent driving here, driving there, figuring this out, deciding on that. Frantic movement followed by hours of sitting still, watching, listening, peering at dials and red numbers. A reprieve was a trip to the rest room or the soda machine.

So many days of closed eyes and the whooshing of the ventilator. Swollen hands and feet, shaved mustache because of all the smoke that changed it from grey to brown. Sometimes a furrowed brow letting us know that something didn't feel so good.

Then, the clearing out of his apartment. All the smoke residue, coating everything, a sticky black film making white counters black, the tub black, the blue rug grey. The walls with black streaks. Talking to the man upstairs, hearing his concerns about what caused the fire, making things even more frightening. Then the coughing afterwards, a small reminder of what Dad experienced.

But, all of a sudden, progress. Yesterday, up and out of the bed, tube out, sitting for two hours. Very, very tired, but better. Moving out of ICU and into the acute care ward today, another good step.

Now its the recovery. The discovery of what he will have to deal with, how he will be impacted short and long-term. Some discussion about the fire, the responsibility of the apartment owners, chatting with attorneys. Where he goes after the hospital is up in the air, but such a small concern after everything else.

All of our lives consumed by this event for so long. But, some good things came from it. Two brothers reconciled, an old friend rediscovered in my life. Perhaps another chance for my father to see, in real terms, that we all love him.