Today was exceptionaly warm, sunny and everything seemed fine. Dad was still as stubborn and confused as always, and he was "searching for him house" as he almost always does when confused, not realizing he -is- home. Now we all knew he was not able to drive anymore (we knew that a while ago) and even thye docs and medics all shunned his driving, but when he wanted to do something, he'll go to extremes to do it. He walked out of the property and down the road in the direction of town, and Mom caught up with him in the family classic car (that happenes to be his car, an '84 Jaguar XJ6 Vandem Plas) and picked him up, intent of bringing him back home. However, he insisted to go into town to find his house. A short while later, Mom turned around and started back home, but Dad raised a fit and almost jumped out of the car twice. Finaly, Mom was forcible removed from the car by the far superior muscles of my old man and soon Dad was the driver and the sole person in the car. Mom started walking home (it's only a mile or less from the place where the control standoff occured) and soon came back up. Dad, however, was nowhere to be seen. After calling a friend of his, Mom was startled by the cell phone going off. I answered and it was none other than a police officer. After handing the phone to Mom, I turned away expecting nothing less than a note of my dad speeding. When I heard "where was the accident?" though, I was instantly interested. A moment later, I heard the news: Dad had a bad wreck and he was en-route to the hospital.

A while later I was on my way to the hospital and saw what USED to be a beautiful golden car that used to turn heads. Well, it still does, but not the same way anymore. The engine was utterly destroyed, the dash was crumpled and the steeringwheel almost torn off. The entire front of the car was little more than jumbled gass shards and destroyed regal amenities. There was a very obvious pool of dried blood, too.

Turns out he had a head-on collision with a tree. This would have been fine had it not been for the fact that it was at 40-50-60 miles an hour and he did -not- have his seatbelt on. At the hospital I found out that he was in severe condition, on life support and the true extent of his injuries. His entire ribcage was broke, his left lung was destroyed and his right lung almost gone, his face broken and his neck possibly broken, too. His entire face was drenched in red, and the fact was he was stable, but he could still die any moment.

As I looked at his unconcious body, I saw could only help but ask myself if he had learned his lesson yet. But then, a bad accident never has shaken a chronic desease from anyone. All I could see was a pitiful man who had gone far too far. No feelings other than hope that the ordeals of life were over yet.

I did not cry. I don't even think I flinched. A little faint because of the pure blood, but I got over that.

He has since been flown north to Portland for better systems with my mom there in the plane to make the thumbs-up/down in case it comes down to it, if you know what I mean. I'm at home on the toilet tapping this eagerly to shake it off me, half constipated and too full of hamburger to move any faster than an ox, but I'm alright. Mom's up at the Portland hospital, and I will follow tomorrow. The car --if you even want to call it that; I call it a trash heap-- has since been placed here on our estate and will eventualy be scrapped for spare Jag parts.

I'm not sad, shocked or have any emotions whatsoever. I'm just angry, for the lack of a better word. Angry that this happened, of course, and angry that I sould do nothing about it. But most of all because if he dies within the next twelve hours, I would have never gotten an apology from him, nor me to give him an apology that I know he deserves.

I'll update later if there in any news on the issue, and any support is greatly appreciated.

==================

April 10, '08.

Update:

Dad survived, it seems, with nothing but head trauma and a smashed face that has since been fixed. Two days ago, we brought him back home, an action which I detested but had no chioce but to allow. The trauma, however, seemingly advanced his Parkinson's by almost a year, and if I thought it was bad before, it's ever more worse now. Currently, we are trying to find a mental facility to care for him indefinitely, but are having problems with that due to an already tight budget and a debate with the healthcare system.

Just wanted to let ya'll know he's alive and "well" sort of...

~EW~