– I’m going to throw the f***ing thing through the window!
Says Dad threatening the TV as he hands me the new digital box remote control.
One wrong button and we got trouble.
Most of the time, Dad manages to laugh at himself, pretending to be an old man walking with an invisible walker, making faces like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying or who I am.
– I’m not that far off, you know.
He says. I laugh.
– I need to refill my prescriptions.
– Didn’t you pick them up yesterday?
Innocent, scared confusion flashes across his face.
The last time I tried to get involved with Dad’s medications, he got angry. This time, there was no conversation to be had. I went into his room, grabbed his pills and called the pharmacy.
– My name is Joe. I’ve known Sandy for years. Bring the pills with you and we’ll sort it all out.
Says the man on the line.
Tears roll down my face.
– Thank you.
After months of living with almost no water and listening to Dad repeat himself that the well had gone dry and was never coming back, I decided to follow a friend’s advice and bring in a new professional of my own before we committed to the high costs associated with hooking up to the city waterline.
Michael fixed the well in minutes. Telling him I loved him might have been a little OTT, but I meant it.
Learning to not trust in the authority of my father is difficult. His imagination has started to cloud his judgment but his tone is still convincing.
Blister pack’s in motion with Joe and a water plan with Michael, I am building my own list of specialists I trust.
I am the authority now. It’s easy to forget.