Leave it! And that too! Translate…
“What’s in that bag?”, my father asked excitedly, I’d answered, “wet wipes”.
From before my father took the wrong medications, he’d gotten sick, was hospitalized for a week, living alone, he’d not wanted to try us, and as we called him up, he’d told us he was strong and capable of caring for himself, that he could do a certain number of pushups a day, he’d checked himself into the hospital this time, but thankfully, we were, notified by the nurse, and us girls, started, taking the shifts, caring for him.
The first time I saw my father on his sickbed, with his underwear, yellowed and loose, the zippers on his pants, broken, holes in his socks, becoming, immobilized, and weakened. From how he was once, strong, in his ironed down suit, suddenly, he’d, withered completely. That, was the reality of my seventy-year-old father, and I’d, come to understand, why after we were all wed, he’d, turned down the invitations of moving in—he’d not wanted us to know about what was, actually, going on under his shirt and pants. And yet, the elders’ wellbeing, is the basis of happiness of the younger generations, and so, from here on, looking into the bigger directions, I wanted to, remodel my father’s bedroom.
After I accompanied him out of the hospital, I’d opened up the door to his house, and, surely, the useless junks, they’d, piled up, and, it looked like a landslide happened in his house. The bottles, waiting to be recycled, at the corner of the living room, the dirty and clean laundry, piled up atop his bed, with the thick dust covering up his furniture too, the bathroom, in need of, maintenance. Due to my last experience, I knew how my father didn’t like any intrusions into his living space, I’d, selected a new tactic. Told him I wanted to go to the bathroom, but to clean up the tub and the toilet; holding conversations with my father, while, picking up the trash lying around his house; using a wet wipe to wipe my hands clean, then, I’d, wiped the dusts off.
illustration from UDN.com
“Why are you taking so long in the bathroom?”, “don’t touch this, I will sort through it.” “Don’t wipe that, it’s fine that way.” My trick couldn’t, escape my father’s eyes, and he’d gotten, agitated, and so, I’d, stopped cleaning up, and, diverted his attention by commenting on the show he was watching, and then, picked up, where I’d, left off. And even so, he’d still, seen right through my tricks, “Dad, you can’t eat this!”, “Look! This is garbage that I’m, throwing out!” my mild manner became, toughened, and, I’d, tried both soft and hard with him, to test his, bottom line. As the commercials came on, he’d, suggested that I can, go out and wander around, or to go to the super convenience shops a bit, and then, come back, I was, then, an unwelcomed, guest.
All the illness come in from the mouth, my goal was, to chase away the mess, to change my father’s, lifestyle, and changing his mind about how the daughters who are married out, shouldn’t be bothered with what’s happening back home. And, with this belief, my sisters and I, banded together, I’d, called them up, and, discussed the battle plans, hoping, to attack again, using love.
And so, this man didn’t want his daughter to come into his house, to mess up his mess, because, he’s so used to things as they were, it’d become, something familiar, and, at his age, change is just, not good, because it’s unfamiliar, and it scared him, but for the sake of his own health, his daughters are now, discussing, alternative battle plans, to help tackle the messes little by little, so their father would, have a cleaner environment to live in, so his health won’t deteriorate.