My agent has suggested that I put more of how I feel in my book about my dad. I thought I had done that. But then I realize that us Bercaws, who put brains in jars, don’t exactly wear our hearts on our sleeves.
The only word that keeps coming up for me is lonely. I was lonely growing up in the shadow of Beau. I’m even lonelier now that he has Alzheimer’s. And when he’s gone, I will drown in the Sea of Lonely.
As I grew up, Beau grew more distant. The fear of Alzheimer’s did that to him, not the actual disease. He drifted away before I ever got a firm grip on him. Now I’m left holding an empty life preserver. The one meant for me.
That’s how I feel.