Me and My Dad

I had to move Dad to a place where he could be looked after twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, ever since his dementia has progressed to the point where he can no longer care for himself. It seems a cheerful enough place; many other elderly people live there in various states of awareness, many are close to his age. The staff are all friendly and the grounds are meticulously kept, there are trees, beautiful flowers, and neatly manicured lawns. The birds flit about the garden bushes continually twittering happily in the warm afternoon sunshine. The residents are surrounded by life and beauty, but in the living spaces much of it seems to go unnoticed. Dad has settled in nicely, he never did take much time to smell the roses, he never was very social either; but somehow he has managed to make several new friends. I fixed my attention upon him, sitting there in the corner of his private room and something struck me as profoundly sad. I realized that as limited as his life may have been before, time continued relentlessly onward and his world was continuing to shrink. Yet, there he was, intently gazing at his television set while sitting in his favorite leather reclining chair. He looked up at me briefly, smiled, and asked, "It's Tuesday? Right?" "No Dad, it is Saturday," I replied with a smile. "Sure it is, that's right , what am I thinking." He thought a few more moments and then he asked, "How is Earl doing these days anyway?" "Earl passed away a couple of years ago," I replied. "Right, sure that's right, what am I thinking anyway?" Earl was Dad's older brother, he was a pastor and he lived in Texas. "I don't see your brother much, you ever see that old Scott anymore?" "Yeah, once in a while, I guess he is really busy establishing his new law practice," I replied. Scott is the second of Dad's two sons, he is my younger brother. "Yeah, he always seems to be working," Dad remarked. "Well, you better get going, your wife and kids will be missing you." "Nah, there off shopping or some darn thing," I said. He waved his frail hands at me saying, "Go on, don't you worry about me now, go on, I'm ok" he said as he shooshed my towards the door. I walked to the doorway and turned to say, "I love you Dad, see you next Saturday" as the steel door clicked into place abruptly cutting him off from my view. I looked at the closed door for a moment and a tear formed in my eye. I wanted to open the door again just to take one more look at him, but I didn't. I wiped my eyes, regained my composure, and quickly turned to walk away down the hallway. I guess he was ok; he was in there with most of the worldly possessions that mattered to him. I was glad that I had managed to bring him the furniture from his house. I figured that surrounding him with familiar items would be a good thing and I knew that if he had his favorite chair, his thirty six inch color television set with cable, his old blue velour bathrobe, and his slippers - that he would be perfectly content. He had come from a poor family with nine siblings, he lived through the great depression and a world war; I could only wonder how profoundly those events must have influenced his life. Could I ever be content with so little? My life and needs just seemed to be so complex. Maybe I was wrong to judge what I perceived to be overly simple, maybe my world was just too big. My suspicion was that there was a pearl of wisdom hiding there that I had inadvertently overlooked. He was eighty-six years old, and realize it or not, he was still teaching me things.

Saturday was our day; today I took him to the movies. We stopped by the Big Lots department store first to buy some candy bars before the show. He ate several of them before we reached the theatre; he complained it was too hot outside, and naturally, it was too cold inside. He fell asleep during the previews and when he woke up again he was confused as to what was going on during most of the film. Complain as he did, I still think he had a good time. On the way home, I asked him how he had managed to go to work everyday without complaining. He looked at me and laughed, "Well it helps if you like your job; mine was really easy work, paid pretty well and not much to it, no big deal." For the better part of thirty-five years, he worked on the railroad and never once did I ever remember him complaining about going to work. I looked at him with a renewed sense of admiration as he sat there, struggling to pull an old wadded up napkin from his pocket so he could blow his nose. How had he done it? For him the job was completed, he could rest now, we were all grown up, he had been a good provider for us; the house was paid for, even if he could not live there anymore. How ironic, he worked so very hard to pay off the house, and then when he finally did, he was too old to live there anymore. Geeez, life just wasn’t fair sometimes. We were quiet now; he seemed to be lost in thought as he looked out the window of my truck with a blank stare. I wondered what it was he might be thinking about. I kept glancing over at him as I was driving back to the home. He may not have been the perfect Dad growing up, but he was always there for us when we needed him. God knows, we sure as heck could have had a lot worse. Suddenly, he looked over at me and said, "You have two boys right?” "No Dad, two girls.” "Oh, that’s right, what am I thinking, I guess I'm all fowled up today." We finally arrived at Pleasant Gardens and I walked him back to his room. I checked his television set and tuned in a sports channel for him. I gave him a hug and told him I'd be back next Saturday. He thanked me and was immediately engrossed watching some baseball highlights. I stood there for a few more moments watching him. He looked up suddenly, almost as if he was surprised to see me still standing there and said, "Looks like there are some good sports programs on today!" He thought for a moment and then remarked, "You know, its a hell of a thing; you come into this world in diapers and then you go out the same way." He shook his head and then smiled as he usually did, he put a toothpick into his mouth, and waved his hand motioning for me to go ahead and leave. "I Love you Dad," I said as I turned and closed the door, "I'll see you again next week."

We used to play nine holes of golf, but he can't quite manage to swing the club much anymore. I'm sure that he would tell you differently, but admit it or not he really struggled to play that last year before he reluctantly retired his clubs. One thing is for sure, if he ever had a passion, golf was it. He had a room full of trophies to prove it. Golf still is his primary preference whenever the television is on. In addition, fittingly, it was on the golf course during one of our last trips out together that I had a shocking premonition. We were on the ninth hole and it was a beautiful day, I looked up and the sunlight was blinding me so I could barely see him walking away from the green into the light. He was disoriented, as he would get sometimes, and he was walking away from the cart down the steep slope on the backside of the green. I shouted to him, "over here Dad, this way!" He looked up and smiled warmly at me and he waved his putter in the air, he looked so happy and peaceful, he was where he loved to be. It was as if he was moving in slow motion and for that marvelous instant, time was standing still. It was great to see him happy like that and the thought occurred to me that it was like a "Field of Dreams" moment, it was as if he was waving goodbye. Suddenly, my joy instantly melted away, yielding to a sharp chill of panic that swept over me, "Dad! No! Please come back, don't go!" I yelled as I jumped in the cart and sped down the path to the backside of the green. As I turned the corner, to my surprise, he was gone. I looked frantically in all directions, but I couldn't find him. This is crazy I thought to myself, but the fear and panic that gripped me continued to escalate. I yelled, "Dad! Dad! Come back! Where are you?" Then, from atop the green I heard him ranting, "Where the heck are you going anyway! I don't know why you bother getting me a cart when you make me walk all over the place like this." I immediately jumped out of the cart and ran up the slope to help get him down to the cart. As I got closer to him, he handed me his putter and when he looked at me, his agitation turned to curiosity. He gave me a confused look and said,” What’s wrong with you anyway? Your not going to cry because I beat you again, are you?" He chuckled and poked me in the arm. "No Dad, you beat me real good," I said. He looked at me again for a moment and I thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he started whistling a carefree tune as we drove back to the clubhouse. Ever since that day, I have made it a priority to visit my Dad.

We don't play golf anymore, but we still try and spend regular time together. He has good days and bad days, but we still enjoy each others company. When the good Lord finally does call him home, I want to know that I spent as much time as I could with him. Life is too short for missed opportunities, tragically many times there aren’t any second chances. I missed that chance with my Mom, I plan to make the most out of this present opportunity that I have been so graciously given. Don't look for me on the golf course this weekend, I'll be spending time with my Dad.