In contrast he's fine with it, knowing he's dying. He sends us on errands and over to the lake house for documents or paperwork that "have to be dealt with before my death" and doesn't skip a beat, never considers that our minds might still be getting used to, or rejecting all together, the notion that we will be without him soon.

I'm not sure he's still optimistic the radiation will improve his quality of life for the few months he has left. More than anything it makes him very sick. And tired. He talked today of the very real possibility of going into a nursing home, the same one Anjoy was in. Again, he's fine with this. He's thinking rationally, logically. I'm thinking how I don't want to take the plastic covering from the dry cleaners off the only black dress that doesn't fall off my still shrinking body. I'm so utterly selfish. He's dying and all I can think about is how I'm losing another parent, how there will be no one to share memories of the desert with, or call up on the phone whenever I write a date next to a new bird in my field guide.

My mother calls a lot these days. She's encouraging and supportive. Inside I don't quite know how to respond. These aren't our usual roles and it's a bit surreal, almost like watching something happen to you from outside your body. And that hasn't happened since I was a child.