There is something seriously wrong with me.

I've just moved to my new place in Santa Monica and can't stop giggling. I haven't spent more than an hour there since every last belonging was picked up and placed the four blocks away in my new place. I spent most of the weekend with my ex who graciously supported me and the movers with the heavy lifting. He noticed, and took it all too personally most of the time, that I couldn't stop giggling.

Happy to be in my new place? That must be it.

I got a little flu bug after two days of moving most of the boxes by myself to the tune of sympathetic stares and comments from my neighbors. I just wanted to get into my new place.

There were many glitches in the process. You know, you set up all the electricity, gas and stuff and it never works properly or comes on in time. I won't get gas for the next couple of days. Which I guess is a good thing for those around me.
Just kidding.
But no cooking.

So, I'm lifting and heaving and bending at both knees etc.

It burns calories and I'm gettin' my workout in.

I called my mom to vent. I realized that this can't really happen, like for a long time. What's the importance or severity of what I have to vent about when my mother is being a full time real estate agent and care-taker to my dad?
She told me that my dad had fainted twice and fallen to the point where he couldn't walk.
My sisters were both there in NY and rallied together to help.
I'm here in LA, moving closer to the beach.
I had left Bryan to sit in the car, waiting to go into Starbuck, order my coffee and kill time to avoid the movers with attitude and overcharging behavior. I heard what my mom had to say and couldn't say anything. I got off the phone with her and just started to giggle.
What am I doing?
I went to Bed Bath and Beyond with Bryan. Dishtowels, hand towels. And I just started to giggle.
I went to Osh hardware. Plants, hooks, saw. And I just started to giggle.
Something must be funny, Bryan would say, over and over again.
I told him that this is just me now. I cry for 30 seconds and giggle for 20 seconds.
I don't know when this extreme of emotion will die down.
I just don't know what I'm doing.
How can I move on with my life, trying to build it back up after a year that tore it down, only to have the most important people in my life, struggling with survival.
I'm selfish.
What am I doing?
When I came out to LA originally, it's not like I ever thought this far in advance to how my parents were going to get on and who would take care of them, should they get sick.

I called my sister. I asked her what I should do. She told me it would be a waste to come back to NY while both her and Kathy were still working so that I could just sit around, watching my dad snore to Oprah.
A client of mine told me that I would know when the right time would be for me to head back.
How do I, really?
I want to be there and I want to be here.
I don't feel strong in committing to anything or anyone. I feel torn between two lives and two coasts.
The biggest pain in my butt before I left for the holidays and before we even knew my dad was ill again, was finding a new place to live. After a huge struggle with that, I found my place and I don't feel I deserve to enjoy it because of everything happening at home.
And then I giggle.
Perhaps Im going insane.

Withdrawl.
I’ve spent more time with my family the last two weeks than I have since I lived at home as a teenager.
The holiday, wrapped in fear, was also tied up with hysterical laughter, memories and joy. My father and his illness brought us together in unconditional love and support. We’ve never been stronger. I’m so proud to have come from my mother and father and have the friendship from my extraordinarily beautiful sisters. The dog and the cat also rock.
I’ve gotten sleep, gotten my accent back. Gotten a little rounder in the hips.
This has been the best Christmas ever.

Mom is taking out the trash and organizing the cupboards.

Where's dad?

My sister has a tremendous cough that won't go away.

Where's dad?

I go out for a run in the cold. I don't have enough layers on.

Where's dad?

Kathy goes out to pick up groceries for dinner.

Where's dad?

Daisy, the dog, is waiting at the front door at 7PM.

Where's dad?

Chloe, the cat, is sitting at her dish waiting for her cluck a doodle do.

Where's dad?

Dads.

I don't know how it ends up being that they go from men to spouses to the silent film star in an action movie featuring all girls living in a bustling suburb of Manhattan.

I know that most dads’ end up being the quiet one, whether they have sons or daughters. They are the ones that answer the phone, exchange a few pleasantries then, 'put mom on the phone,' "Everything's good, good, I'll get mom."

My dad is like that in a sense. However, if you call home and he picks up the phone, even if you are busy with just a minute to talk, he will talk to you for 10 minutes without you getting a word in otherwise.

I've actually put the phone down, stirred soup, flossed my teeth, checked my e-mail and come back to the phone and he's still talking about the weather and driving and New York City.

My dad.

When he says he loves you, you never doubt it. Even if he disappears for hours or snaps at you for no reason.

My dad.

Didn't ask if I had enough clothes on when I went for a run in the bitter cold. Are you warm enough?

My dad.

Didn't ask if Karin needed medicine for her cough. Normally, he would go out and get every brand of cough and cold medicine whether you asked for it or not.

My dad.

Would never let the cupboards go bear or trash cans get full or cat dish get empty.

My dad.

Would always cause a stir with Daisy, every single time he would come back in from the outside, even if he were gone for 2 minutes to have a cigarette.

My mother.

When our family cat of 12 years, Barney, passed away, she learned that pets have a tendency to hide when they are ready to die.

My mother.

She sees my dad, hiding from us all, our conversations, our dinners, and our memories.

My family.

How do you do it?

How do you prepare?

When do you know?

What do you do?

My dad.

Slipping into a silence that doesn't even pick up the phone.

My dad.

Friends with the owner of every bodega on the east side of Manhattan.

My dad, who knows the name of every worker in the post office, dry cleaner and supermarket.

My dad, who has charmed every nurse, doctor, aid in every hospital and doctor's office in NYC.

My dad, who every night, even if he yells at the dog to get out of the way, Daisy follows him up stairs after he goes up to bed. My mom always asks, "Daisy, are you sure you wanna go upstairs? It's so much fun down here?" Daisy always turns to us then continues upstairs to be with his best friend. Unconditional love.

My dad, who is slowly slipping away. Into quiet.

I look at him.

I look inside him and try.

Try to see where he is.

I look at his face.

My face.

And I can't find him anywhere.