I don't know why I didn't realize it would happen. but I didn't. I didn't expect to find my eyes tearing up in the middle of a Walgreens greeting card aisle. I just went in to get a foundation brush because I got a new foundation that is liquid, and it works better when applied with a brush. I had passed by the greeting card aisle, then doubled back because I should just get our Father's Day card now. Simple, right?
I quickly realized that was not so great an idea.. before I knew it, I was reading card after card to find one that fit our "situation." But God forbid there be a greeting card to fit our situation, because that would mean that a large enough population have fathers who have become sick or weak, who aren't so much the big hero that fathers are supposed to be.. who can't really grill up a buncha meat for a bbq, who can't throw his grandchildren up in the air, who feels defeated and weak, whose attention drifts off into vacant and sad stares, who doesn't laugh when we tell him funny stories. It made me think back to before his stroke, how we thought we were taxed on the parental health side of life already. I still remember that the day before his stroke, I was talking with Dad in the kitchen after work, before going to sleep. After a while I said goodnight, blew him a kiss, and started going upstairs. He joked with me and said something like, "what, no hug??" in daddy-speak. Which made me grin and come over to him sheepishly, arms open for a hug. He laughed and said what he always said, "that's it? no! a bear hug!" which was our cue to squeeeeeze tight, as tight as we could. He would chuckle like Santa Claus, I swear.. not quite "ho ho ho" but you know - big and hearty.
and then the next day.. I had started a new project at work, which would soon reveal itself to be horrendous and yet pivotal for my career. That night, I came home to talk excitedly about the project but found Dad resting on the couch -- at 8pm?? no, that's not right. He never admits to feeling ill or needing to rest. and he sure doesn't do it so late in the evening. But he was. it started with headaches for a week, and he'd even gone for an MRI 2 days before, but we hadn't gotten the results back yet. The headaches got worse that night, but we didn't realize what was happening until his speech started getting slurry..
I won't write about all of that. I will just write that all of that came back to me in a rush, in an instant. While standing in the fucking greeting card aisle at Walgreens.
I did pick a card, that I hope wll make him smile. It's not cheesy, or cartoon humourish, or something joking about tools and lawns and naps. It works for us because it emphasizes what hasn't changed - he still worries and wants to lead us (though can't quite do so so that is a struggle), and we still drive him crazy. He's still Dad, we're still the kids. We may be the ones leading him by the hand, but he ..
no. i tried ending this positively.. i wanted to write, 'but he still leads us where it counts,' but i couldn't.
he's gone and what's left is a shell of the man my father was.
~~~~~~
We went to a sangeet the other night, where we met some families that my parents used to be friends with, 3-5 years ago -- before all our health problems started getting bad and people started forgetting our phone number. It was the first time that a lot of them were meeting Dad since his stroke. Some were overwhelmed at the sight of him -- 40 pounds lighter, walking but with a cane and with his daughter hovering nearby in case. (The party was crowded, and it'd have been difficult for him to move through smoothly enough...) The men all came and shook his hand - his right hand, the one that he lost power over. He can raise it and he can offer a bit of a handshake, but unfortunately his range of motion hasn't been recovered fully nor have his fine motor skills. Some of the men gave him a long hug. I don't know what they were feeling inside -- relief at seeing him well and walking about, dismay at seeing his diminished state, guilt at not having called at all? But I do know that it was hard for my father, my proud well-respected father, to be greeted with kid gloves. Thats why he never wants to go anywhere -- he's not satisfied with how he is, who he is now. Which is good right, if it turns into motivation? but it's not. We've plateau'd in improvement. And our pushes for trying different exercises or changing his reliance on his cane have been met with a gruff response...
~~~~~
Just so you know - I don't really think about all this to a large extent -- it's just part of how life is now: Dad doesnt want to go places. He moves slowly, more slowly than he really can move, because he's wary of falling and breaking something. We have to plan who will be home to give Dad lunch/tea/dinner. (He can't be home alone for a long time b/c he can't serve himself & warm his food, though yes he can eat with no problem alhamdulillah.).. sigh. whatever.
For Father's Day, I want my Daddy back.
but failing that...
I hope that we get some good smiles out of him this weekend.
I want to keep respect in my voice even when most frustrated by his gruffness and disinterest in improvement.
I pray that we remember to be good to him as he was so, so good to us when we were little.
There you go - ending on a prayer.
