Simple Tree

It is almost ten in the morning, and I cannot hear anything coming from Pop's bedroom. It is too quiet. He doesn't even have his radio playing. As much as I do not like to hear his country music, such silence, these days, makes me feel nervous. I don't know what I am going to do when he dies. I still have no plan and no money, nor a real eagerness for suicide. I just keep hoping for another year.

Byron

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
Embitters the present, compar'd with the past;
[...]
And friendships were formed, too romantic to last.

-- Lord Byron, "Village and School of Harrow on the Hill" (1806)

It's that last line that I do not want to lose.

Pop

Pop needs help coming in from his car. He has been parked in the driveway for a long time. I looked out the window, and I see that he is not just simply talking on his phone. He is almost fainting. ... I practically carry him into the house. I am afraid that we are getting past the point where all he needs is a quick cup of orange juice to revitalize him. He is feeling his age more. Time is running out on us.