The Jovial Circus

"A brave man!" we all thought as my father, seated in this tiny room with seven others crammed into it, seated in a wheel chair, explained his "exit plan". The palliative care team sat in revered silence as my father quiety explained his three fears about this dying journey.

I looked at my brother, this tall, sarcastic man that resembled my mother so shockingly. Although the team had handed ME the tissues as I croaked and squeeked, repeating my father's wishes to the uncomfortable audience, I noticed it was my brother who had tears in the cornere of his eyes, HIS glasses fogging up, HIS nose needing the cotton hankercheif from his pocket, HIS hands sqeezing my father's hands for dear life.

Our next appointment too us to the Doctor's office. We all made strange jokes. I felt out of my body as I found my father a wheel chair and watched from a distance as we all piled on to the elevator, jokes about bad driving, bumping the chair wheels on the doors.

We sat in the waiting roon, dad allowed me to sign his name to paperwork for the first time. POA - Power Of Attorney.

"Sign DOA" he laughed at me, so I hit him with the paperwork. But this weird power of responsibility surged through my stomach. I though I migh need a trash can.

My father's dear companion laughes, reading our horiscopes. She and dad are the same sign - Scorpio. And I looked at my brother with shocked enlightenment; we are both Sagitarious. It seemed an ominious sign to me.

Surprisingly, we were called in right away, and our superficially, jovial quartet piled into the exam room. I felt like a circus act, crashing thru the doors, alarming the doctor with our sheer numbers.

Suddenly, in our raucous, my brother and I were waved away, dismissed to the waiting room. Alone. Since we couldn't sit on opposite sides, we picked chairs next to each other, quintin into the late afternoon sun.

For 45 mins, we made small talk. Well, not all of it small. I told him my theory of mom's death eight years ago. That I thought she'd woken up from surgery, remembered that she would have to live on a diet, live on a budget, and take care of a ailing,retired husband...

"huh," he grinned, "she said piss on it!" We both had a small chuckle. I kind of hoped it brought him some peace.

Silence.

"I couln't take care of all this." he said.

"Uh, no, not from Alaska or France or Saudia Arabia or Chad," I said, my stomach turning nauseous again.

"Na, wouldn't matter. I couldn't do this anyway."

I squinted into the steep angle of the sun, appreciating that this would be the closest to "thanks" he'd ever get.

I'm not sure what I expected anyway, a ticker tape parade? Everyone has to go through this, has to grow up someday and help someone die. Don't they? Well, except my brother.

"Jesus, where the hell are they?!" he fidgeted

I looked at him, "You ok?" I asked.

"Who me? Ya, sure. Fine"

"Ya, ok" I answered. Must just be the jet lag I thought.