Life

I admit that in many ways I have lived a fairly sheltered life. I have not lost a loved one (human), nor have I had to spend much time as a visitor in the hospital. In part this may be because I don't get close to many people, but I think also it is in part that we didn't have any relatives close by growing up, so I was never that close to my grandparents or uncles who passed away when I was a child. I didn't attend the funerals, and I never saw my parents grieve openly for their losses. Losses that I had no way of understanding at the time.

But then maybe nothing can prepare someone for seeing their parents age, and their health give out. My dad has been sick for a while. Being kept functional with regular blood transfusions, but still able to be at home until this week. It seemed to happen so fast; one week he and my mom were traveling the world attending conferences and meetings, and then he started to get tired. Seemingly out of the blue he went from a very active man who made being in their 70's seem young....to being old. Not his mind though. As tired as his body seems, his mind is still my dad. Maybe you never feel old in your mind though. I know as I kid I thought 36 would feel old...but it doesn't. Maybe it is just the body that fails and the mind that struggles to comprehend.

Dad was admitted to the hospital this week. Today I felt my cough was under control enough to be allowed to visit, but by this time he was moved to the ICU, and wearing a mask that made talking almost impossible, and unable to wear his glasses to see. I still wanted to go, but to be honest, I wasn't sure what I would do, or how it would be when I got there. I thought the time would drag carrying on a one-sided conversation. I was wrong. Time flew, and leaving there was the hardest thing I have ever done.

My dad wants to reminisce, and so do I, but I couldn't without crying, and I didn't want him to feel guilty that I was crying, so the conversation barely ventured beyond the mundane.

I want to tell him all the gifts he gave me that will be with me forever. Not the items, but the parts of me that I attribute to him and mom. The quest to learn and to question would be the biggest one. Dinner at our house was spent in the kitchen with no TV and we would talk about random events and curiosities. (So if you ever wonder why we get into strange conversations at the barn...it is my dad you have to thank!) Even as the youngest I never felt silly for voicing my opinion.

My mom and dad made sure we got to travel and I remember the trip to Mexico the most; we drove there in an unairconditioned station wagon in the heat of summer. We didn't stick to the tourist roads, and the sight of people living in make shift tin shacks and the dead dog on the side of the road left a lasting impression. Going to East Berlin and talking with one of their scientists about how he was stuck on that side of the wall, while his family was on the western side...seeing the still bomb damaged building he worked and understanding that his fear of being overheard saying the wrong thing was very real. These were trips that opened my eyes and helped me see and try to understand from another view point.

I want to tell my dad how proud I am of him taking up Karate as an adult, and then going on to teach it. For looking after his foreign university students during holidays. For setting a good example always. For being patient and reliable. For having a profession he enjoyed and sharing that with his kids. With dad, work didn't have to be work. Yes, it required effort, but that effort had its rewards.

These are things that I want to say before it is too late. Eulogies are wasted at the funeral.

My poor mom too; I can see she is tired. All the medical mumbo jumbo. All the tests and test results she is trying to understand. Being home alone while he is at the hospital and trying to distract herself from the inevitable so she can function. They have been together for about 47 years. 47 years. She is a very independent woman with a life of her own, but I still cannot imagine what she is going through.

It is hard too, to not turn it inward, and to imagine myself in his place. Who will be at my bedside while I gasp for breath and want my pillow fluffed? Will I have the same strength he has been showing in the last few months?

Dad is breathing well enough to be off the face mask now, I hopefully when I go back he will be able to talk and see. Maybe then I will have found the strength to say what I want to make sure I say. To both him and my mom.

Karen