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I thought: What if my father had still been living behind the Salvation Army instead of in jail? There would have been no one to find him. I hung up, told everything to my wife, and then I sat in silence as she changed out of her black Christmas dress and packed our overnight bags. He looked as if he had recently jumped from a train car and rolled down a gravel embankment. We sat on a bench under the shade of a maple tree, and I studied the constellation of cuts and scabs covering his arms. Three years earlier, after more than two decades of estrangement, I met him at a park near where he had set up camp in the woods behind a Salvation Army. This responsibility, already complex because of his lack of a living will, would prove to be even more fraught because he and I barely knew each other. This meant, as my mother explained, that I was his legal next of kin, responsible for making his medical decisions. Noticeably absent from the list of charges was grand theft auto, meaning someone had lent him the car, which I found hard to believe. His most recent arrest was for driving without a license, driving while intoxicated, possession of drug paraphernalia and resisting arrest.
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My father had spent much of his adult life either homeless or incarcerated. The doctors say he had three brain hemorrhages caused by an aneurysm.” “The guards found him in his jail cell unconscious. “He’d been complaining of a headache for several days,” my mother said. She explained the severity of the situation as I watched my wife slip on a black dress she had purchased for the occasion. My wife and I were getting ready for a Christmas party two years ago when my mother called to tell me that my father was in a coma.