As many of you know, I have been here in Peru for the past days looking after my father.
He is doing better and we are leaving the hospital today.
He and I have shared some new experiences in the past days, as we have been spending more time than usual together... I won't share all of the details (for your sake). but I have to share one experience,
shaving PAPAPA...
shaving is important to my father
he has spent a meaningful part of his life in the process...
He comes from a time when it was less offensive to leave the house with no pants on, versus leaving the house unshaven.
His right hand was swollen and infected from the multiple IV needles, and the left hand had the actual IV in it, so he had no hands available.
The time had come...
after 50 years watching my father during one of his favorite rituals,
it was time for me to shave him myself...
Aside from needing to give me some final pointers, he seemed calm and happy...
There was a gratitude and a tenderness that was unusual in him...
He felt taken care of, which is something he desperately desires, but seldom feels.
All of a sudden I realized that possibly my father has never liked being independent,
he has always longed to be taken care of...
ever since his father died, when he was just 4 years old...
If I have a sense of "living my life in someone else's home" from our move to the USA,
then my father must have had that sentiment in spades... as he was a nomad growing up.
He, his sister and his mother lived their childhoods literally in someone else's home - their uncle's, their aunt's... it was occasionally shared, often borrowed, and every so often rented.
My father took a different approach to his "someone else's home" experience...
whereas I strived to be likeable and the kind of guest people would want to invite more often,
my father impersonated the "MASTER & COMMANDER" of a home... he has always tried to command respect with fear and dominance which has caused him much pain, and made connection almost impossible, throughout his life...
his bark has softened as he has aged... and he's never really had a bite (though it took me over 40 years to realize it. His constant barks of guilt left real scars on my hide...)
How did I never see this before today... my father's lack of belonging as the core of his being...
It explains why he places such a high value on his material possessions- on his home and its artifacts. He DEFINES himself by his apartment, and, to my chagrin, has always spoken of his value by the things he will leave behind for others.
My father anchored his spirit to the things around him that he could control and hold onto... I anchored my spirit to understanding connection, why we exist, and why we always long for home... I try to anchor my soul to harmony... to connection... to the moment.
Wow - did I digress... back to shaving...
First, I wrapped my father's face in a towel heated by the hottest luke warm water the bathroom could produce.
Then, I lathered his face excessively as he always like to do... making sure the shaving cream looks like the whipped cream on my youngest son's pancake on Saturday mornings.
Then I warmed the blade in a small stainless container and started to shave.
His face contorting as best as it could trying to follow my slow hand. He was peaceful and happy.
I was careful with his skin - and very conscious of his age. I didn't want to cut him.
I caressed his face, as I do mine, to find the roughness that only can be found by touch - and corrected those.
Then I rinsed his face and slapped him around with Skin Bracer from Mennen... the smell of the shave lasting hours on my hands.
Few words were said, but somehow it was a bonding experience like few we've had... and certainly none we've had recently.
This evening I changed him into his pajamas and held him in my arms.
He was sad, but so very rational and clear. "I just want to die. I don't want to live dependent, scared, unable to do any of what I enjoy."
His sadness was palpable.
He apologizes constantly to me. I keep telling him to stop.
"I'm sorry for putting you through all of this."
"Pa... you need to stop apologizing. I am here, because I want to be. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you..."
"You are here on your own merit. You are so very capable and successful."
I could hear the pride fill his eyes as the sadness filled his heart.
My father physically uncomfortable lingering in an embrace. But, just like when my kids were little... I held on to him, way past his comfort point... and then he settled into the hug.
He allowed my arms to hold him, and his old hands awkwardly but lovingly caressed mine...
"My father never made it home" was the thought that crossed my mind.... and perhaps with me, with his son that resembles him physically if not in other ways, perhaps I am as close as he will get.
Seeing my father need me as my children needed me breaks my heart.
Whereas our children were learning to fly...
My father is generally waiting to die...
He realizes this earth won't be his home for too much longer.
He has lived a full life... seen and done so much... and truly on his own...
He's always been afraid to be seen... to be truly held...
His guard is down in a way that I have never known...
occassionally he barks... buts just habit...
he has little energy left... he is giving it all he's got...
I see you Papa... clearer than you will ever know..
I will remember this day, and be grateful for it.
I will remember this day, and be saddened by it.
His life has been long,
and his face
as smooth as a baby's...
Whoever thought
the moment would come,
where I would find myself,
shaving PAPAPA...
in harmony,
Nestor