The Band Plays On

We have all heard the story of how the band on the Titanic played as the ship sank. The title of this entry is about that sort of resigned tenacity. Sometimes, you just simply have to play on when life is pulling you downwards.

In recent weeks, I have had to bear witness to the deconstruction of my female progeny as her psychological and phamacological issues once again began to take hold of her, casting her to the fates as a chew toy. After ten years, you would think I am immune to her issues, but surprisingly I am not. She missed Zeeba's final swimming lesson, then was a no-show for her Saturday visit with Zeeba. Yes I was angry, but in the back of my mind was that decade-old question; is this the time her issues will kill her? Will this be the time the police come to my door to inform me she is dead?

I hate that voice.

Then, last night, horrible news. One of my three remaining brothers has a very rare form of cancer. The prognosis is not great, although I stubbornly remain optimistic that all will be well, eventually. The bigger issue now is that I must carry the news to my father tomorrow morning. This is a task I do not enjoy, and one I do with a heavy heart. My dad has already buried a daughter, a son, and his wife. At eighty-eight, he carries these sadnesses with a heavy heart, and I dislike the role of messenger. I want his memories of me to be happy ones, but I know that he carries the memory of me at his door early in the morning, telling him my sister was dead, and the memory of me driving him to attend my brother's funeral two days' travel from here.

So, the band plays on. I will move forward, as I always do. I will do the best I can to be the best daughter I can be, for him. I will tell him, explain everything as best I am able, and calm his spirit if I am able. And then I will let the music take me where it will.

But I will not be happy about it.