Love is NOT Like…
My father arrived two and a half weeks ago, and I have never been more excited to see him.
When I first saw him, I realized he looked older. I just saw him 4 months ago, but much like children, old parents change every time we see them.
He was slimmer than I left him. And, his very large blue blazer fit awkwardly over his ever shrinking torso. He was happy to arrive. And, it is quite a long trip for an 87 year old to make on his own.
He was pre-occupied with his cane, that he loves… It had broken recently. He doesn’t know how, but has several conspiracy theories as to how it might have happened.
Remember, I thought to myself…
Remember, you missed him, you are happy to see him…
Remember…
He spent a fair amount of time at home, but always seemed happy to be part of the whirlwind that is our life with the busy boys.
I was a little surprised he didn’t want to go see my son’s soccer game, but I realized quickly, walking from the parking lot to the fields and standing outside for almost 2 hours is a physical act that I take for granted, that would take a real toll on him.
We had a good two weeks. He came for my son’s graduation.
I watch him closely. Even though I often move quickly so that I don’t have to come to a complete stop by his side.
He doesn’t sit on the couch to watch T.V.
He is held up (usually at 45 degrees) by the couch feeling the vibrations of the blarring television volume. His eyes are most often closed. But, he must feel the vibration… I think to myself.
He is a creature of habit. Yesterday, as we are running around like crazy getting ready for nearly 50 people to join us for brunch… fruit is being cut for fruit salad, I am racing in and out with final purchases of ice and bagels, my wife is throwing casseroles into the oven, my aunt is running around setting the table, my boys are moving furniture…
Flop, flop, flop…
My father comes up the stairs with his old slippers that slap with a loud FLOP every step that he takes… he comes up for the big event. He is happy. He will see his friends today.
He gets his banana, his instant coffee and his English Muffins with sugar-free apricot preserves… and he sits for breakfast.
I am glad there are no weapons in the house ;-)
Amidst the craziness… he weaves and ducks and moves around us toasting his muffin and microwaving his coffee. He has his rituals and he doesn’t break them.
I get its an age thing…
I just have to REMEMBER…
It was a good visit and a good day.
My dad is the kind of guy who likes to point out all the things in everyone else’s home, or in the restaurants we go to, that are nicer than mine.
I served him this special Glen Morangie scotch that I had bought. Then I took him out to dinner, and he leans over to me. “This” he says, “Is good scotch. Not like the one you served me at your house.”
Ok… he’s been here almost two weeks… and I am growing tired of him.
I don’t think I LIKE my father.
I don’t think I ever have.
I hate saying it out loud… but I don’t like hanging out with him.
He makes me feel less than I am.
He makes me feel guilty.
He is so very often negative.
He is so very often critical.
He is so very often unappreciative.
And, he is ever more repetitive…
I hate that I don’t like my father… but I’d be lying to you if I told you that I did.
So, today, I was ready to take him to the airport. It had been a good visit, and I was ready to have my house and my T.V. and my life back (and I know my wife is as well).
I was talking to my aunt, and we were talking about him, and I said to her… SO MUCH of my father’s behavior is inspired by fear…
The fear of feeling worthless…
The fear of being alone…
I was so ready to send him home, and speaking to his fears out loud immediately changed my demeanor.
He is so motivated by fear.
I took him to the airport, and he was gracious.
He’s never been more gracious than he is now.
He seemed to see so many of the things about my life, that I so often blame him for not seeing.
Every time we say good bye, I am aware it could be the last.
There is less and less muscle on his limbs everyday.
His sadness is palpable on the days he leaves our home.
His mindset can’t overcome the feelings of loneliness… and the way he has always been keeps getting in the way.
His loneliness shifts to criticality… and negativity.
As we near the airplane counter, he calls the wheel chair. His cane is busted still, and he wants me to put it away. Stuff falls out of his suitcase and then he yells at me for trying to put it away. I get some duct tape and tape his aristocratic silver handled cane and fix it real good ;-)
Then, he is missing his wallet. NOOOO!!!!
I am running to the car to check, thinking, “If I don’t find it… he may STAY!” ;-)
Momentary buzz kill of emotion until I run and find it in the car.
I find it and run back to him, where is waiting with a very nice middle eastern man who is assigned to push him in his wheelchair.
That molten lava in my core is rumbling.
I can’t believe I was so ready for him to go.
The thought of his loneliness hurts my heart.
The thought of his fear of dying alone, of being alone… of fearing death…
Makes me wish I could die for him.
I hug him goodbye, reaching down to him in his wheel chair.
Years ago, he would have stood up, making the point, I CHOOSE to be pushed around because its easier.
Today, he didn’t even pretend that the wheelchair was optional.
I bend down and place his head in my arms so that he can feel my strength… and confidence. He rubs my head caringly and desperately. His eyes full of tears.
My heart hurts.
I am grateful he made it.
I REMEMBER how I felt the day he arrived, and I get angry at myself for not being more patient, more loving, more considerate during his visit.
I am amazed by how sad I feel.
How very sad…
I know he has done his best for me. He has done all that he knew how to do.
I know that he loves me.
I know I am the thing he is most proud of…
And, I know that my living in the United States pains him daily.
I know he misses me.
And, I realize, I can’t believe how much I am going to miss him someday when he is truly gone. And, today may be the last time I ever see him. Who knows?
My heart hurts as he disappears on his wheelchair into security. Ironic, I think to myself, that I see him go in a wheelchair...
He has made my life so much more difficult and painful than it needed to be…
But, because of it, he has made me so much wiser, so much stronger…
He taught me disharmony in its rawest & most intimate form… He has always been my inspiration for harmony.
I LOVE my father. It feels good to think that out loud.
And, I am fortunate to still have him around.
I just don’t like him most of the time.
But Love is not Like…
It is so very, very different…
I MUST do a better job of REMEMBERING that…
Fly safe, Padre…
My heart goes with you…
Eyes full of tears…
Life is so very sad…
And, because of that, I know and appreciate joy so much more!
Yours in harmony,
Nestor