Yesterday was the full-meal deal.
I went to visit my father in the home.
Please note that I did not say in ‘his‘ home. It is, strictly speaking, ‘the’ home. One must never be confused on that count.
It is getting harder for him to see any reason to leave, not just the home, but more specifically his chair. It takes my best sales patter (the tulips! the shining sun! the fragrant air! and finally…please Dad, just indulge me…) to get him out.
Finally he agreed, pushing his walker across the parking lot to the little on-site coffee shop. He flatly refused my other offer of a drive to Somewhere/Anywhere. Instead, he ate his cookie, drank his coffee and then said he wanted to go back to his chair. Indeed.
My policy is simple: Look for the good in whatever happens.
The bad news of watching my father’s decline is obvious, so here’s the good news…I am getting better and better at listening to my body, to actually feel the emotion instead of getting busy and ignoring it so that it can show up later in my back or some other random illness.
I had the hour on my drive home to feel the seeping weight of my sadness. It felt like someone was stacking multiple dental X-ray blankets on my body. I got home. Kevin hugged me. I cried. I felt the pure heavy shittiness of the situation. I crawled into bed. It was noon.
I slept.
I woke up.
Stretched.
And got the hell out.
Because here’s what I know: As important as it is to feel and not run from my feelings, it is also important not to wallow. I most definitely felt the grief of the situation, and then, it was time to fill that cup back up.
I did for me what my dad no longer lets me do for him.
I walked in the fresh air. I paid special attention to the flowers, grinned at the little people toddling out of the daycare, asked to pat some random stranger’s dog and deeply inhaled and exhaled blossom-enhanced air. Then I grabbed my bike and tooled along the seawall. I went to my new volunteer schtick doing homework-tutoring with some ten-year olds.
Trust me when I tell you that no other thoughts or feelings could enter my head while I was helping a very energetic kid with his homework…especially considering he had absolutely zero interest in the project. I admired his tenancity to thwart my efforts. He was remarkably energetic and I think I fell a little in love.
It was just what the doctor ordered. I came home with a smile on my face.
Life is good.
Related articles
I love this post Colleen. I read it a while ago and it has resonated with me. I remember your father- he is such a dedicated man, such a hard worker. In a past job I met so many people in his position- people who led good, long lives and did amazing things- but were just ready to go. Anyway- thanks for writing this, I feel really lucky that I was able to reconnect with you and discover your blog- I love it!!!!
Thank you Lornna. I feel honoured to share our history together. It is so amazing how all of us weave in and out of each other’s lives. With some, (like you) I feel like that strong thread is always there…connecting us – simply waiting to be picked up whenever we can.
Thanks for taking the time to comment and share your thoughts. I really appreciate it.
I am so with you, Colleen. So with you. After my dad died this year, I just wish I could go back to the good old days when he was at ‘the’ home. Who knows what lies in the future so let’s get out and enjoy spring. PS You will be pleased to know that I went bike riding today.
Carol, thank you for the reminder that these visits will probably one day be considered the ‘good old days’. I often think about that; each of these visits could very well be the last one. Crazy thing about perspective…so much depends on where we’re sitting at the moment…though I think the ‘best old days’ I’ll remember are the ones where he came and hung out with us in Sechelt…when he could still read one of his large-print books each day, walk through the bush to get a coffee and would stare at the ocean with a big smile and say how much he loved to watch all the marine action.
And you’re right. I’m so glad you went on a bike ride! We did a big ride around the city too. I love it. Life is always better after a bike ride.
Every day we must get out!
A gorgeous, poignant post. It’s only when we’re young that we can keep the realities of living and dying separately, when every creature and growing thing on the earth is in the throes of both in every moment. The exquisite pain that comes with our own aging – that sudden, sharp pain in the brain from briefly illuminated awareness of the now when it is so not the now we want to be in – has a terrible, awful beauty.
It was the same for me when my mom was in the hospital over the winter and a supposed 6 day routine surgery stay turned into our frightened wonder that she might never come home, incapacitated by bowel issues and mania (truly a ‘perfect shitstorm’).
The lightning bolt missed us by inches and we’re still singed and chastened, weary to the bone from the fight… but this time we won, and are grateful for it, and wish our friends in similar, more final, circumstances had the same reprieve.
You are so lucky to be gifted with the vision to see everything around you simultaneously – life, death, vibrance, the last vibratos in a waning arc, the bud and death-rot in every flower – and wrap it in the warm hug of wisdom and openness we all love in you so much.
Biggest hug ever (and bless you for voluntarily doing homework with an elementary schooler, ugh!)
‘…a terrible, awful beauty’ combined with a ‘perfect shitstorm’ and ‘singed and chastened’ is in fact the exact same vision you are describing when you say that I have the incredible ability to embrace ‘the vision to see everything around you simultaneously’.
What I want to say oh-so-eloquently, is, “Right back atchya!” because, oh my god girlfriend, your phrase ‘last vibratos in a waning arc’…brought me to my knees. Right up there with ‘death-rot in every flower’.
So let us agree on this.
You enjoyed this post because we are in sync on our view of the world, that is, that it is exquisitely painfully beautiful 🙂
Thank you for such an eloquent comment. It deserves a page of its own.
PS My new homework buddy is a wonderful wild child. Can’t wait to try again next Thursday (‘try’ being the operative word!)
I loved the image of multiple x-ray blankets being piled on. How completely compelling an image that is–and one we all can relate to. The dreaded dentist’s chair, the anxiety, the physical weight of the blanket, being abandoned in the room while the assistant seeks shelter from the x-rays–altogether a bleak evocation.
My dad also turned 87 this month, and was diagnosed 2 years ago with the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. Fortunately, medication is holding the inevitable at bay. My prayer is that he will die of other things before he descends into the full indignity of the disease. My heart is with you my dear. I think I will go take pictures of the snow geese and sandhill cranes that are crowding the farmers’ fields today.
Oh Mandy…farmers’ fields crowded with snow geese and sandhill cranes…now I have those beautiful images held in my imagination. Word-images are such incredible gifts.
I’m glad the medication is working for your father and hope your prayers are answered. Alzheimer’s seems to hold its victims in some sort of horrific personal terror. It is a merciless and mean disease.
Let us remember to notice beauty, laugh often, hug lots and live well.
Thank you for this very timely post Colleen. My dad turned 87 yesterday – he still gets out – actually drives – but he too is declining. We all have limited days here. Thanks for the poignant reminder to live each one to the fullest.
That’s how I feel about all of this Liz…I see it all as a cautionary tale to make sure I get out and enjoy each ‘ordinary’ day because, as it turns out, the ordinary is the extraordinary 🙂 I’m glad your dad is doing well, that’s fabulous.
I know that you’re a carpe diem kind of gal, so let’s make a pact to keep it up!
Deal!
Grinning over here 🙂 🙂 🙂