My dad is a man of deletion.
Delete the most obvious troubles in your life, and you are happier. Correct?
No, not really, but if you delete things from your life that are extraneous, then maybe. I give him that.
He is 86, stubborn, and a true and loving father. He puts himself after all things he feels he needs he needs to do for others.
I am 54, knocking on 55, and still turn to this man who has shaped my life like no other. He is the reason I question all purchases, adore my mother, breath freely of college debt, and salute the flag. He is a WWWII veteran, and although this man does not ask it for it, we adore him. My brother, my sister and I look to him for guidance, for information and for continual assurance that our time on earth is real and valid.
Much like our father in heaven.
This man saved frugally all his life, worked a 40-hour job that had nothing to do with the bachelors degree he earned at Franklin College in 1949. He met my mother, dated her and then married her..all with the idea that his life would be different than then one he had been raised in…privileged, but devoid of love and affection.
Love and affection we had plenty of….from the time I was able to attend our city pool by myself, he would gravely hand me a quarter, and remind me to use it wisely, to the time I walked off the platform to received my college diploma, the father has been with me.
Nonetheless, as I face the door of elder care along with my siblings, the past week unrolled.
He is 86, soon to 87. My mom lives in assisted living, not more than ¼ mile from where he still lives. He sees her each day.
Today, he announced that he had lost power to his AC, his dishwasher, and his garage door. He needed to prioritize his costs, he stated but even more, he needed us all to know that my mother’s care was the top priority. We recognized that…because this man recognized it before the rest of us..he purchased long term care insurance before it was fashionable. We needed no reminder. He always put us first before himself.
Whether it was college, shelter, food or anything else, this man delivered.
He told me when I questioned the loss of AC(up to 85 in his home) that maybe it was at the top of his priority list….(really!). He said, with a garage door not working electronically, it is ok..I can still lift it with my hand and arms. With a dishwasher not working, I can still do the dishes the old-fashioned way…. By hand.
He spoke the plain truth.
I grinned at him.. I am the oldest, the one who is supposed to oversee all that happens to our parents as they age. But I have been graced by a sister, a brother, and a husband who share in both of the love for our patents, and the care of those parents. Could I force him to get the dishwasher and garage door fixed? My instinct told me no. He was his own person; his own man. However, letting him know I was aware of the situation helped motivate him to action.
Action in his time frame.
Is that what we call personal dignity? If not, that is what I call it.
So be it.
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True words: Cherish them while they are with us. There are stretches of time in our youth when we believe parents always will be there. The concept of our own mortality eludes us; we are young, full of life, so much energy to channel in so many directions. We begin our own lives, and forget ...
ReplyDeleteI was always on the move: College, marriage, jobs and job promotions, on to new towns and new cities, new work, new friends. My parents were home and, though I would stay in touch by phone, the miles between us and the time limitations (that often I was guilty of setting) kept us apart.
And then they were gone. Not both at once; several years passed between my father's death and that of my mother; and then, my sister, nine months later, died of cancer. No more time to visit, to share, to laugh.
But time now to remember, and how well I remember them all. They adopted me when I was 6 months old; they were the only parents I knew and to this day, now at the age of 57, when someone asks me why I never sought out my biological parents, the answer is the same: Because I never needed to. I hold them no grudge for their decision; but my adoptive parents, and my sister by extension, gave me all I needed.
Cherish the moments with them. As we grow older, so do they. Fill their lives with love, while their hearts can be filled with it.