Father’s Day 17 June 2018
Time. It’s the strangest of bedfellows. There are days it seems to creep along, tiptoeing ever so slowly. Other days, you blink your eyes and the day is over. But, in the end, it’s relentless. Parents have always known this; your child is this tiny amazing miracle, and when you turn around, that tiny human is an adult. Now, reverse this thinking, and it’s the same with our parents.
My Dad is aging, still. At 83, he is shorter than he used to be, and he bends when he walks. “Daddy, stand up straight” I tell him. And, most of the time he does. Other days, he tells me that it’s too hard to stand straight. Somehow, I think if he stands up straight, he won’t be as old.
My Dad’s eyes are as bright and lively as ever, but I see changes. I see the frustration when he can’t remember something he thinks he should remember. I see the anger when he tries to turn a screw driver or open a jar and his muscles won’t respond. These are things he never had to think about or struggle with in the past. At times, I think he feels as though his worth has been taken from him, that my Mom will see him as less of a man. He still needs and wants to be the one to protect and care for her, and it seems his body betrays him at every turn. “Daddy, fight; don’t let time win!” I want to tell him.
I know that I still see my Dad through the eyes of his little girl. He was my hero, my role model, my teacher. As I got older, he was the one I went to with problems and questions. And I still see him that way. I still run to my Daddy. But, now when I am forced to see him through the eyes of time, I realize our time together is precious.
The universe is masterful, and sometimes plays us like a chessboard. When I lived far enough away, that I only saw my parents a few times a year, the changes in them were surprising, but I could go home and pretend I didn’t notice. And yet, I wanted more time with them. The universe moved her pieces on the board, and I am close by. It is a bittersweet gift. I see how often my Dad falls asleep, and I want to scream at him to stop driving. I know he won’t, though, because that is the last vestige of freedom. I think in his mind, if he gives that up, time has won. So, we pray, my Mom and I, every time he gets behind the wheel. And I pretend not to see the sorrow and frustration in her eyes. We are powerless to stop the progress of aging.
So, we cherish the time we are given. I will still run to my Dad for advice, counsel, or just to talk. I’ll visit, we’ll go to lunch or dinner, and I will treasure this gift of closeness. I will never stop being thankful for the man my Dad is. And, yes, I know he has flaws. But my sons are better men because they grew up with his influence and counsel. My daughter is obsessive about auto maintenance because she learned it from her Grandpa. People tell me I am just like my Dad, and I am proud of that.