I am not okay. Last week I accompanied my father to his doctor. The doctor was concerned with my father’s weight loss. I sat on a chair next to the doctor, and translated the things that Daddy had trouble explaining in English. For the first time, I realized how little he understood of what the doctor was telling him. And there in that room, my Daddy was another man. He was an aging man, bony without his shirt on, his body covered in surgery scars. I was almost afraid to look at him. I thought if I looked, he would disappear right then and there. And what I would be?
I am not okay with him getting weak and me moving away, as if running away from this horrifying reality. I am not okay leaving my mother watching over him and worrying. Today, Mom told me that he saw Daddy cry over some disturbing news about Iran. I have never really seen him cry, and I don’t think Mom has either.
I am scared to leave them.
I am not okay.