Lifetime

Chances

My dad slept through most of the following day while I fiddled around the apartment more, hanging a few framed photos of our family on the blank walls. I didn't want to leave him alone, putting in a grocery order to be delivered and checking in on him every half hour to see if he was still asleep or needed anything.

After putting the groceries away and organizing the refrigerator to my liking I created a meal plan. I could already tell that my dad's appetite would be impacted by treatment, breaking things down so that he would always have small meals and snacks available.

I browsed the web for nearby businesses, excited to see that there was a used bookstore and coffee shop within walking distance. Rochester had more to offer than I was expecting, especially in opportunities to be out in nature. I idealized days where my dad would be feeling more upbeat so that we could walk along a trail with a breathtaking view, interrupted by the sound of him heaving from his bedroom.

He never called out for me but I was there anyway, rubbing on his back as he puked into the small bin I placed by his bed. I held onto the plastic edge, noticing that in transition he'd vomited some on the bed and floor.

"I'm sorry." He muttered when he was finished, a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead and mouth still parted as he spit into the liquid.

"Don't be, just let me take care of it." I insisted gently, tugging a couple of tissues from the box on his nightstand to wipe at the corners of his mouth. "Can you get to the bathroom?"

He looked like he was trying to muster up the strength to move, brows pressed together as if he could will himself to be ready.

"Lets wait a few minutes." I suggested. I stood from my kneeling position in front of him, taking a seat on the unsoiled spot on the bed beside him.

When his breathing was slower, the prominent nausea he felt dulling slightly, I helped him stand. We walked slowly to the bathroom next door and he took a seat on the toilet, resting his head in his hands. With a washcloth doused in cool water I wiped off his face and neck, pressing the fabric into his temples so that he felt the cold. He exhaled with relief, taking some time for a quick wash up while I gathered fresh clothes, medicine, and water.

I set up a place for him to rest in a cushy recliner he kept in the living room, stripping the bedsheets to wash and taking a seat on the couch when he complained that my constant movement made him feel dizzy.

"There's a bookstore." He spoke weakly, lifting a finger to point behind him, indicating that it was on the opposite end of the street.

"I saw it when I was looking up businesses in the area." I smiled.

He returned with a grin, pleased with the affirmation that he still knew me well. "I figured it would be a place you like."

We spent the rest of the evening watching ridiculously predictable and equally as wonderful holiday movies. I remembered that my mom would become obsessed with them every year as Christmas approached. Though my dad always grumbled about the endless stream of films with titles like "A Country Christmas" or "A Christmas Love Story," it was evident that he attached a positive memory to them.

He dozed off halfway through the second movie, just when the main character's shallow boyfriend came in to town, creating a rift in her developing connection with the male lead. I giggled when his snoring grew louder, letting the ending play without paying much attention and scrolling on my phone.

I slept through the night, waking closer to the next afternoon still on the couch and with a small pillow tucked behind my head. Music played low from the small kitchen, the same classical sounds that my dad always listened to. He stood by the counter with a spread of ingredients in front of him that I recognized immediately, turkey, spring mix, havarti, avocado, red onion and chipotle mayo that would make up my favorite sandwich.