I took the sage advice of a good friend and opted to make memories with my father in lieu of blogging regularly this week.
My first selfie with my Dad.
Having celebrated his 89th birthday earlier this week, there is little doubt time is of the essence when it comes to making memories with my father. He still has his sense of humor although his memory and hearing aren’t what they used to be.
“I checked the obits today to make sure my name wasn’t there,” Dad offered most mornings when he’d finished reading the paper.
I always chuckled as if I hadn’t heard the same line yesterday, the day before yesterday and several days into last week.
I’m discovering, courtesy of my father, what it truly means to be an octogenarian. We’re both considering the losses, me the inevitable as time relentlessly marches on. My father laments the passing of so many of his friends and family; laments the loss of his health, his independence, a purpose in life. Fear seems to have filled the void.
Like an old tree, weathered and bare, my father stands alone at the top of the hill harboring a lifetime of memories, and regrets, sentinels of what-ifs dotting the hillside like tombstones as tomorrow is swallowed up by that past.
I determined my purpose for the last few weeks was to love, to listen, to simply be present in the moment, each precious moment. And I discovered that child and parent often switch roles as life comes full circle; and that death need not be the end of a relationship.
That’s all I know.
Oh, wait! I know, too, that you showed up today for some Fun Fotos. Some days, I just have more to get off my chest than frivolous. It’s the price of admission. Much cheaper than a therapist! You guys are awesome!
I’m now ready to get this show on the road. Let’s roll!
“I checked the obits today to make sure my name wasn’t there,” Dad offered most mornings when he’d finished reading the paper.
I always chuckled as if I hadn’t heard the same line yesterday, the day before yesterday and several days into last week.
I’m discovering, courtesy of my father, what it truly means to be an octogenarian. We’re both considering the losses, me the inevitable as time relentlessly marches on. My father laments the passing of so many of his friends and family; laments the loss of his health, his independence, a purpose in life. Fear seems to have filled the void.
Like an old tree, weathered and bare, my father stands alone at the top of the hill harboring a lifetime of memories, and regrets, sentinels of what-ifs dotting the hillside like tombstones as tomorrow is swallowed up by that past.
I determined my purpose for the last few weeks was to love, to listen, to simply be present in the moment, each precious moment. And I discovered that child and parent often switch roles as life comes full circle; and that death need not be the end of a relationship.
That’s all I know.
Oh, wait! I know, too, that you showed up today for some Fun Fotos. Some days, I just have more to get off my chest than frivolous. It’s the price of admission. Much cheaper than a therapist! You guys are awesome!
I’m now ready to get this show on the road. Let’s roll!
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