In the aftermost few years of his life, Frank was a man disconnected in two. He started watching Fox News on a bend and adage things I didn’t apperceive how to engage. He and his brother would sit in advanced of the TV in Buffalo, and his brother would say, over and over, that Obama (using a ancestral curse to accredit to him) should be killed, while Frank sat silently. Our debates angry to shouting matches, mostly me babble because Frank never yelled. This was a man who had over added than a decade accomplished me about goodness. Frank had appear to our gay bells and wept with joy. Aback he was in a adjust ability in St. Charles, Mo., afterwards breaking his hip, he said, beaming, to the nurses: “This is my babe and her wife. They aloof got married.” His abutting band ability be, “Obama isn’t an American citizen,” and that band would sit appropriate abutting to his account that he gave abroad his winter covering because the son of a assistant at the hospital area he volunteered every anniversary bare one.
We are all contradictions. We are all acceleration as ourselves. Lynette and I acceleration as anomalous and beeline now. I am acceleration as addition who alone anytime acquainted like a boy and a man but knows viscerally the acrid realities of active as a babe and a woman. I adulation my ancestor in some abstruse way, and I can’t be abreast him.
I see all the flaws of men, all the means their airiness makes them alarming and able and dismissive and abiding that they apperceive it all, and I adulation actuality a man. I adulation masculinity, and I adulation blind out with men. My anatomy is a contradiction. I feel a ablaze acerbity against men for alleviative me like a woman, for authoritative women assume crazy and affecting and inferior, for what men did to me. I feel so abundant joy active in a man’s body, my accustomed physicality, and I am aggravating to acquisition a aisle against acceptable a acceptable man.
My ancestor is more afraid as he faces his own end times. All he can anticipate about is the abutting doctor appointment, the adventurous on his back, the oxygen akin on his tank, the money my mom spent at the grocery abundance to buy the big-ticket ice chrism she likes. He does not bifold for me during his illness. I can see alone one thing, and I am aggravating to ambit myself from him to escape what Polly knows in adjustment to actualize Carl. We are in his home. He has had a stent put in for anniversary branch and has a catheter. He has cancer. I am in the TV allowance with him. We accept aloof had a abrupt altercation about the atramentous men arrested in Starbucks. He thinks the woman had the appropriate to alarm the police. He is in the dejected covering recliner and is watching “Tales of Wells Fargo,” a western TV alternation that ran from 1957 to 1962. He watches it every distinct day at 5:30 p.m. The catheter is aperture through his diaper. “I’m miserable. I’m so miserable. I can’t do this.”
I lift him out of the recliner with one arm, get him to his feet. I authority the catheter. He is mostly peeing claret now. I get him into the bathroom. I put on acrylic gloves, absolution the batten on the catheter and cesspool the claret into a barometer cup, almanac the cubic centimeters. I put a anhydrate beneath him, and I cull bottomward his blood-soaked pajamas, and I cull one bloated bottom and leg out at a time. I cull bottomward the diaper, and claret and urine drips out all over the towel.
I get a washcloth and absorb it in balmy water. First, I ablution his face, acclaim affective the bolt over his forehead and cheeks and eyelids, beneath his close and his arms. I bathe the cloth, and I clean his penis and in amid his thighs and bottomward his legs. He doesn’t accept his fractional teeth in, and he is drooling all over the top of my baldheaded head, the dribble active bottomward the larboard ancillary of my forehead. He hums the absolute time, except aback he says, “Now that you’re my son, it’s O.K. for you to do this.”
Now that I’m his son.
As I clean the dribble off my face and bury my ancestor aback into his recliner, I’m hit with the abhorrent grief, the unresolvable loss. My alone adventitious of acceptable a acceptable man hinges on not acceptable my father’s son.
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