Painting Goodbyes

My dad suffered “a shower of strokes” this week, due to a clotting disorder caused by the cancer that he’s been battling for nearly six months now. For the last two days, he has been confused, not knowing what year it is or where he is, although most of the time he knows who we are. He will respond appropriately to yes or no questions but does not initiate conversation at all. Dad, as a former math teacher and current financial planner, cannot subtract 13 from 27. This evening he told me that the President was Eddie Van Halen. It has been a sad and harrowing few days to say the least.

Part of the process of diagnosing the cause of dad’s confusion was an MRI of his brain. This was the first time he’d been apart from my mom after 24 hours in the hospital. After the test, the tech took mom to where dad was waiting on his gurney. He had his right hand up in the air, in a loose fist, and he seemed to be looking at his thumb as he flicked his wrist around. Mom asked him what he was doing.

“Painting,” he said.

“What are you painting?” she asked.

He responded, “Goodbyes.”