Today is first Monday.

Today I was at the hospital by myself. My brother flew back to L.A. for a few days, to make an appearance at his office. He would be back in a few days.

That left me to work the nursing staff and ask all the right questions of the doctors. It was a nerve-wracking role. That was my brother’s job. He’s always in charge- he’s the one that commands people and assesses situations. It’s how he grieves.

I’m the one who provides comic relief. That’s my job. It’s how I grieve.

Today I was alone with my dad in his hospital room, and I thought and thought and thought. I assessed the situation. My father had been in the hospital for almost a week now. That’s a long time. And he wasn’t getting better. New problems kept appearing. It was like a bad acne breakout that we couldn’t manage.

That’s when I knew.

I was alone in my dad’s hospital room, in the middle of the day, and things were very busy out in the hallway, what with all the nurses and all the other sick people. I was alone, and it was quiet in my dad’s room. He was sleeping. No one was there to lend the realization the gravitasse and melodrama it deserved. There was no ominous soundtrack or earth tremors or lightning bolts. No screaming or crying. Just me, alone, assessing the situation.

Just a little girl watching her Daddy die.

I am trying to stay away from the keyboard. I am trying not to write about this. I am trying not to bleed my way through this.