This is harder than I thought it would be

This is harder than I thought it would be. I am enjoying myself immensely but it is hard to see my dad like this. I am loving spending time in his presence. But I can already see how draining days must be for mom. She is quickly becoming my new hero. She always did have a super-human status in my mind. But that was always about surviving herself and still seeing the funny side. This is about surviving him. And still seeing humour.  Loving him through repetitive questions. Admiring him through the blank looks. And even getting angry with him for not being the one that the narrative of their lives to this point made him out to be. She has every right to expect that. He co-wrote most of the chapters and as far as she knew they were written in ink. He was cast as the hero. The white knight. The good guy. The caregiver. Why couldnt their story end the way I had written it in my head? Why couldn't he ride off into the sunset at the end of his day, a clean, white-stallion-riding happily ever after? Not a denoument that drags on, to the point where your fingers tire of turning page after page after page printed with the same paragraphs.  Instead of our hero turning circles, asking for the twentieth time if I was going to bed now and I love you and is there enough blankets on my bed and did I get something to eat and do you need a blanket and what time are you going to bed and I've checked the windows and locked the door and he's going to bed now good night. I love you.
Even I love you gets irritating after the twentieth time when you are exhausted and trying to go to bed.

I love you too dad. Twenty-one.

Good night. Twenty-two.

I do love you. Good night.