(I’m going to wallow in self-pity.  Indulge me.)

I think the stress of looking after my Dad is getting to me, manifesting itself physically as breathlessness in the past week.  When it first appeared last week, I thought it had to do with the cold and sore throat that I got an MC for (the first time I’ve taken an MC twice in two months, perhaps also something to do with stress ?).  But at the dining table this morning I thought my heart would burst (obviously it did not which is why I am typing this now).  I could barely eat my breakfast.

For someone who exercises (or used to exercise) regularly, my guess is that it is brought on by the stress, and not an otherwise unhealthy lifestyle.

There is one thing worse than being an only child in a family, as a result of which one has the shoulder the responsibility of looking after a sick parent alone.  It is a situation where one is not the only a child in a family, but nonetheless has to play the role of surrogate spouse and siblings to the sick parent.

Sometimes, this is how I feel.  In fact, I think that many times I try to be the wife or daughters at my father’s side.  Otherwise he would be more alone.  Maybe my trying too hard is now starting to kill me.

I can’t help but feel sometimes that this is unfair.  I was neither the favourite child, nor was a lot of attention showered on me (Joyce’s theory that my personality is withdrawn as a consequence - something that she proudly claims to have remedied at least partly upon hooking up with me).  I am in fact tempted to think that sheer pragmatism drives my Dad to express gratefulness for my presence by his side - my siblings, and especially the older of my two sisters who is his favourite, are too unreliable.

How very King Lear-ish.

Therefore I find it highly ironic when bystanders say that they envy our close father-son relationship.  David in fact mentioned this the other day.  The reality is that it was almost non-existent until I decided that I would love him no matter what.

There are two fountains from which I draw this strength - perhaps now failing - to love.  The first is Joyce, who has showed me how to love, and whom I know loves me, as unconditionally as humanly possible.  The second is God, who loves absolutely unconditionally, and in whose hands I by faith - perhaps also waning - commit an uncertain tomorrow.

As I drove to office from hospital today, I prayed that the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, would guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus.  I feel better now.