Wednesday, September 8 2011
Dad decided he needed to go to the bank. So he got all us in the car. He had been up a few times, but hadn't driven yet.
I was in the front seat.
He pulled out of the intersection and I realized he was driving horribly. I knew was irritated, so I didn't say anything to him about it until we almost got t-boned. He pulled out of the parking lot, and a car swerved around us, loudly honking its horn. We had gotten "this close" to getting killed. I told my dad what had just happened as he seemed he didn't see it or didn't care. He gave a little mumble and I could tell I needed to just shut up or I would get back-handed.
I gripped the edge of my seat, longing for home, as we drove slowly away. It must have looked like he was drunk cause that was what it sure looked like
I spent the rest of the day up in my room, contemplating what I should do.
Mom got home late that night. She was folding laundry as I went in to say hi to her. She told me she was worried about dad, in hushed tones. I told her what had happened that day, and she had a resolute look in her face. I was worried but not to worried.
That night I wanted to sleep alone, but dad told me he wouldn't be able to sleep unless I slept with him. Frankly, he smelled and I didn't want to. But I knew he wasn't going to get better from whatever was wrong with him if he didn't sleep. So he slept on the couch, as I pulled up two chairs alongside and made a bed on the chairs. I pushed my body against the chairs in hopes I would stay away from him.
I think that's the first time I realized something was terribly wrong with this whole thing. I fell asleep praying that God would heal my dad.