UPDATE: The diary below came about as a result of a recent conversation with a family member who told me about their conversation with a parent who wants to see them soon. This family member is conflicted about seeing their parents right now with Omicron still raging; they both have serious medical issues. When they told me the details of the conversation the other day, it struck me how their dad kept saying “I don’t care anymore.” He genuinely doesn’t seem to care if he gets Covid at this point, he’s sick of not seeing people he loves. And it struck me how many people are having conversations like the one below, and how many people are agonizing over whether to see aging parents they know might not be around much longer, so I decided to write out the conversation as it was relayed to me.
“Hey Dad.”
“Hey.”
“How you been?”
“I’m alright. Wish you coulda come up for Christmas.”
“I wanted to, Dad. That ice storm was crazy though.”
“John woulda come.”
“Well John wouldn’ta been bringing a car full of kids through an ice storm.”
“Ok.”
“It makes a difference, Dad.”
“I guess so. I’m lonely, though.”
“I know, Dad.”
“You know. What are you gonna about it?”
“Whaddya want?”
“I want you to come up here and see me.”
“I wanna see you, too, Dad. I don’t wanna get you sick, though. I don’t want you getting us sick.”
“I don’t care any more.”
“What?”
“I don’t care any more. I don’t care. “
“Whaddya mean you don’t care.”
“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”
“I wanna see you, too, Dad. I just wanna wait until”
“Until what? Until we can give each other money-back guarantees we’re not gonna sick?”
“I suppose.”
“Aw, come on. You came up to see me when you knew you might kill me if you had a cold.”
“You had cancer then. They said they didn’t know how much time you had left.”
“I might have it again. You don’t know. I’m eighty-fucking-four years old.”
“Well let’s assume you don’t.”
“Why?
“Aw come on Dad, you look like you could hit a hundred at the rate you’re going.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Come on. Keep doing what you’re doing. This shit’s gonna end soon, you know it.”
“You don’t know it, and neither do I, and you know it.”
“Whaddya want from me, Dad?”
“I want you up here when I turn eighty-five next month.”
“What if I’m sick? What if the kids are sick? What if you get them sick?”
“Come on, you know they’ll be OK.”
“I don’t know that.”
A song plays in the background.
“With an ocean in between us we can only row so far.”
“So you coming up?”
“I dunno, Dad.”
“I want company for my eighty-fifth birthday. I don’t care anymore.”
“Alright.”
“Alright what?”
“I’ll be there. Not sure who else will be coming along. We’ll see.”
“Alright.”
“Alright what?”
“Glad you’re coming next week.”
“OK. Me too.”
“Alright.”
“Alright what?”
“I’ll see you then.”
“OK, Dad. I’ll see you then.”