Father's out of the hospital again, but this time, he's not supposed to be.

Dr. Feinstein requested that he be allowed to keep him for 'a few more weeks', which is apparently hospital code for 'indefinitely'.

My father objected, of course. He said that he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker every day, and he felt that it was killing him.

So now he's back outside with all the choking germs and obnoxious stares.

You might recognize him.

My father is the man who has to use the motorized cart at Publix.

He's the man with the red, swollen skin because his cancer has become subcutaneous.

He's the man who has to wear a surgical mask outside.

He's the man who can't walk fifty feet alone.

And he shakes all the time because he is always in pain.

Please don't stare at him.

He knows.

My mother and I have to leave home for the weekend of July 17 for OU Passport, my orientation at Oglethorpe.

I get to meet new friends, pick my classes, and watch my mother stress out over whether my father is as all right as he says he is over the phone.

I'm glad, at least, that now I have my license.

I can be of some use to my parents, even if it's just ferrying my father to and from the hospital.

Such is life.