Grief

My dad was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease and boy is that a barrel of monkeys. I just came back from seeing him and the rest of my family. I returned home to my dear Simon, who stopped eating hours before I arrived. I went to the emergency vet this morning, and it turns out he is probably dying, and will die within a year even if he survives the week.

It's weird, accelerating and decelerating grief. For Simon it started 3 years ago, and for my dad it's been maybe 1? Simon seemed to be okay when I left a week ago, but now he's full up on ketones. My dad seemed to be in terrible shape before I visited, but other than becoming a downright dangerous driver, he's better than I feared.

I've helped Simon and my dad, but I feel guilty for not having done more. And so, so sad. And it's worse because Danielle is not here for Simon, and is not due to return for three weeks--odds are she'll never see him again ("despite the expense," I say, repulsing myself).

I am grateful that the main thing I'm worrying about for Simon is his well-being. I wish I didn't worry about the cost, too. And it's not great that Danielle's absence plays into the equation. I want to minimize everyone's suffering, and I don't know the parameters of the utility function that will do that. For the moment, we're going to try to give him a chance with in-patient treatment, and re-assess once there's more data.

Most of the tears I'm shedding are for him, not me. But he's still alive, and all too soon my grief will probably be focused on my loss. All while my dear dad looms in the past, present, and future.