I'm starting the series of tests that will likely reveal nothing, as they did before. I hope in some ways that's not the case. I need to know what's causing this. My greatest fear as I age is to lose my mental ability and thereby lose my self. I know dying is inevitable. I know at seventy that the day will come sooner than later. What I dread most is living in an aging body with a damaged mind.
(I wrote the stuff above about a week ago. Tests are still in progress, all negative thus far. I'm feeling better but not great.)
Today is October 24th, my older son Jason's forty-sixth birthday. He is geographically closest of my children (two sons, two stepdaughters) by far, being about forty minutes away, but I have seen him only once in a dozen years and that was at his brother's in Louisiana. I am pretty sure I've mentioned him before in these musings. As each year passes, as we both age, I wonder if I will ever be able to get reacquainted with him, whether he will, with age, somehow want to get to know me as I want to know him. Every year his birthday makes me sad because I know that's one less year, one less chance, that we will meet as friends, father and son, or just sit for a while and talk as strangers who could become friends.
I've learned that it does me no good to catalogue and dwell on all the ways I didn't know how to be his father, but it's still hard not to look for that one instance in our sparse relationship that shut the door. I wish I knew what it was.