Burden

He hates the fact that he needs her. It isn't the way it is supposed to be. He is supposed to be caring for her.

“It is okay, daddy.” She has told him time after time.

She has to say that, he thinks. She can't say that he is a burden. A huff at that thought. He raised her well. Too well.

“You are blessed to have your daughter.” The nurse who comes once a week says. The physical therapist who is also present that day adds,

“I tell him that all the time.”

He rolls his eyes at this. He believes he has said that maybe once.

“Now Mr. Brown, why are you rolling your eyes? Don't you agree?”

He tries not to talk to any of the many medical professionals he must deal with, not unless it is absolutely necessary. It isn't now.

“He doesn't speak much. Annie says he does with her. With us though he is mostly silent.” The nurse adds.

He swallows at the mention of his daughter's name. He is Mr. Brown. She is Annie to them. He is the patient. They are the caregivers.

He sighs as they work on him. The physical therapist moves his legs. The nurse, meanwhile, is drawing his blood. It is something Annie isn't allowed to do. Not that she wouldn't try.

She has always been confident. Even from early childhood her favorite words were. “I do it.”

That graduated to, “I can do it.”

When she was five, it was what she told him when she started Kindergarten, it was what she said as she walked into the class by herself.

She dealt with the bully she had in second grade herself. He only knew after the fight.

I will do it becomes her motto.

When she enters high school she turns down every boy that asks her out. “Daddy, I will graduate with high honors. I won't allow a boy to take my focus.”

He is proud but doubtful. He shouldn't have been. She did say she would do it, after all.

In her senior year is when the first symptoms started. He ignored them at first. He is getting older. Of course he is slowing. It made sense he is getting weaker. That is what he told himself.

He made it to her graduation, where she gave the valedictorian speech, with high honors.

She insisted that he go to the doctor during the summer that was supposed to be before university.

Neither of them were prepared.

“MS and a fast moving version. I’m sorry.”

He can still hear the sorrow in his doctor’s voice.

“What do we do?” Annie asked.

“You go to university and don't worry.” He has said.

Her laugh was bitter. “Fat chance. You think I am leaving you?”

“You worked too hard. You must…”

“Screw that. You will go to school. I can handle this on my own.”

He hates he was wrong.

Bed bound within a month of the diagnosis, he still tried.

“Insurance will pay for a nurse to come in once a week.”

She had rolled her eyes. “And the other six days?”

“Neighbors. Friends.”

“Not their responsibility. You are my daddy. I love you. I am taking care of you. There are online classes I can take.”

“Not the same.” He mumbled. By this time, he had given up. He is determined that he will beat this disease so his daughter can live her dreams.

The weakness moves over him. Still, he remains able to move from the bed to the bedside toilet. She emptied it, which he hated.

Now though, he looks back on that time as the good old days.

She doesn't complain. Not once. Even jokes about it.

“You changed enough of my diapers.”

He loves her. Lord knows how much he does. But, this situation has her hating her a bit too. If only she would complain.

She does everything with a smile. Changing him. Bathing him. Turning him. Cooking for him. In-between, she sits at the computer and does her classes.

She has changed her major from law to medicine.

“Medical research so I can find a cure for MS.” She told him after she did.

“The law is all you have ever wanted.”

“Things change, daddy. I want to help you and others suffering from this.”

If her mom was here, he thinks, not for the first time. His wife had passed away when Annie was a year old. A complete accident. She was hit by a car while out walking the baby one day. She had pushed the stroller out of the way seconds before the out of control car hit her. The driver had died of a massive heart attack behind the wheel.

No one was to blame. He did all he could to raise her right, this child that was all that is left of his wife.

She would say he had. A lot of children would have left.

He has overheard his daughter's best friend ask her. “Why don't you hire a full-time nurse? You can afford it.”

His wife ‘s life insurance was invested and has earned enough that his child is well set.

“He is my father. My responsibility.”

Lord how he has grown to hate that word. Responsibility. No, she is his! It isn't supposed to be the opposite.

He never let her know he had overheard. .

“You need to communicate with her.” He talks with a therapist once a week on the phone.

“I will not burden her more than I already am.” He responded.

“Your silence can be a burden.”

Maybe she is right. Still he stubbornly holds back. She does enough, damnit!

“How was therapy?” She asks when she comes back into the room after her class. She looks tired but is still smiling.

“Same as always.”

“She still won't let you up to walk?” It is what he is pushing for.

“No.” He frowns.

“It is okay. Maybe next week.”

“Screw that! I need to be able to walk. This isn't fair to you.”

Her smile stays on but drops a little. “I don't mind.”

“I do! This isn't fair to you,” he lowers his voice as the grief creeps in, “it isn't to be this way.”

She sighs. “No. It isn't. Mom wasn't to die. You weren't to get sick. In a perfect world. But we don't live in a perfect world. Do we?”

“No. We don't.”

“I love you Daddy. I know you hate this. I should be in school. I’m sorry I couldn't leave you. I know you hate me for that.”

He gasps. “I don't hate you. Good God! I loath the situation. Don't ever think I hate you. I'm sorry that you have ever thought that.”

They weep together, tears that have been held back for years. Cleansing crying.