My father fell down the stairs.

I've been down lately. Not melancholic or whimsically nostalgic but down. Real deep in the depths of lowdown down. Weird thing is that I haven't actually been feeling depressed or even sad. True, tears have appeared in my eyes on a frequent (near daily) and unannounced basis but if I was to state how I have been feeling I really couldn't say that I was depressed. Just down. Perhaps I would also include a dash of frustration, a measure of loneliness, a modicum of anger, and a pinch of exhaustion. My own personal recipe made to order.

I really don't mean to get into reasons or rationalles at this point. This preamble is only to set the stage for what happened next. Leading us to the title of this particular blurb. Last weekend my kidlings and I cleaned house. Working together in order to achieve a common goal is a lovely way to pass a Sunday--good old Protestant ethic. By the time early evening arrived I was ready to indulge myself. It had been ages since I had a long soak in the bath and with a freshly cleaned tub and sparkling faucets I looked forward to reacquainting myself with the idea of relaxing.

So there I was, thoroughly enjoying the experience when I heard the phone ring. Once. Twice. Then it stopped. The girl child had answered it. I heard her voice. "Yes" "Ok" "Just a minute" "I'll get her". I heard her climb the stairs to bring me the phone. I figured I could continue my indulgence and talk on the phone at the same time. No harm done. I am a multi talented individual. My daughter informed me that it was my aunt. "Hello!" I exclaimed purposefully filling my voice with sunshine and happiness.

My aunt replied with a quick hello followed by a "don't worry everything is ok." My father had fallen down the stairs. My father is 78 years old and lives alone in a bungalow an 8 hour (when I'm driving) distance from where I sat soaking in my bath. The water started to feel rather cold. I got more information. My father had fallen down the stairs the night before. He had lost consciousness. When he woke up he had crawled upstairs and went to bed. In the morning, he had called his brother, my uncle, and my uncle and aunt had taken him to the hospital. 7 hours and many tests later he was home. Nothing broken but morphine coursing through his veins to help him deal with bruised ribs and sore everywhere else.

My aunt continued to say that he was alright but was very lucky. There was no sign of trauma on his head so his loss of consciousness was not from him hitting it. I listened and gathered more information. I know that my aunt would prefer that my dad go to a home. That might be the best thing for him. How much of what she says is in my dad's best interests? How much of what she says is in hers? I listen and take it in. She asks that I call my brothers. I am not surprised that I am the one she called. An ally? I say I will call them and thank her for calling me. I ask to speak to my dad. I hear his voice. It sounds strong yet tired. Understandable. Something else is in his tone. Embarrassment? Fear? I listen. I joke. I tell him to get some rest. I hang up the phone and step out of the bath and drain the tub.

I call brother #1. What can he do? He lives 1 hour from my bath and 12 hours (if he drives) from my dad. Leave it to the uncle and aunt he says. I suggest that perhaps it was kind of our responsibility too. He agrees and can ensure that all future monetary commitments would be met. Ok. The venture has financial backing.

I call brother #2. He's working on his PHD. He has no time to think about anything else until it is done. He also informs me that he had been speaking with my dad the night he fell. My dad fell down the stairs because he was drunk. I should, therefore, not worry. It wasn't medical. He also told me that I was better at dealing with personal issues with folk so he would leave it up to me to talk to my dad about options. But, I wondered, you are the one with power of attorney here.

I don't call brother #3. I don't know his number. I don't know where he is.

Feeling a bit like Le Petit Prince I put the phone away. I think about how strange people are. I think about how I do not find this strangeness surprising. While I do not understand my brother's reactions, their reactions are, to me, predictable. I can see them coming a mile away. When did people become so archetypal? When did I? The level of self-absorption witnessed all around me leaves me feeling deflated. Down. I wonder how to write this out. I wonder how to examine the subjective objectively. I wonder how to make it all about me when it was my father who fell down the stairs.