Once upon a time a man—whose strength of mind and spirit during his prime had known no bounds—had the good fortune to live to an advanced age.
Upon reaching his late eighties, his laments, concerning loss and limitation, became common place.
As this was unlike him, his loving daughter’s concern was aroused, so each time a lament arose, she listened closely in hopes of inspiring her hero to accept whatever life offered, next, heroically. Examples of dialogue shared by father and daughter:
I'm very frustrated! Everything needs replacing all at once! Washing machine, dryer, vacuum cleaner ... who needs this aggravation and expense at my stage of life???
Why Dad, that's a wonderful thing!
What in the world makes you say that?
You’re out lasting your appliances, all of which are easily replaced! So if the bottom line is replacing appliances or you, well, everyone I know would choose you ... and seen in that light, I'll bet you’d choose yourself, too! With that line of reasoning sweetening the air, father and daughter shared a hearty laugh, followed by a warm hug.
More of the same ...
At a spry eighty-seven years of age, Mom calls.
Frustration best describes her tone of voice.
We're not coming, she declares.
Why not? asks disappointed daughter.
Dad won't get out of bed. (Hmmm–won’t or can’t?)
Put him on the phone.
Pregnant pause till Mom returns ...
He says he's too tired to talk.
Tell him I'm on my way ...
Turning my key in lock of parents' front door, I kiss Mom, and we approach Dad, snoozing in bed. As a gentle kiss brushes his cheek, Dad’s eyes open and seeing me, he returns my smile.
Hi Dad, I've come to whisk you to my house, where your choice of beds awaits, so Mom won't miss out on helping me to show Rachel how to make chicken soup and matzoh balls. I'm too tired, Annie. I know that, but Mom won't leave you here and neither will I, and I know you don't want Mom to miss out. So throw on your jeans ... the sooner we get to my house, the sooner you'll lie down, and when you awaken, hot chicken soup will be ready for tasting.
If ever there was a guy who enjoyed his food that guy was my Dad. :)
Exhausted as he proved to be, Dad’s smile matched mine. (It’s not what you say but how you say it.) As his spirit mustered his last fumes of energy, Dad arose, we were on our way :)
While the rooster slept the afternoon away, four happy hens, namely, best friend, Angie, Mom, Rachel and I, clucked over the savory aroma of chicken soup, wafting through the air while rolling matzoh balls to die for. Well, three of us rolled, one balked. You see, several years back, Angie's first try at this Jewish delight bounced like rubber balls instead of floating like clouds, so she swore off try-try-again, forever more. No problem ... Angie’s a great cook, and if her mindset blocked matzoh balls from her repertoire, my friend, who walked in when others made themselves scare, gets no flack from me :) Anyway, upon awakening, no one was more eager to dive into a hearty bowl of soup, stocked with chunks of white meat and matzoh balls, floating lighter than air than dear 'old' Dad ... who, as it would turn out, was proving tuckered out on a daily bases.
Over the next few months, Mom referred to Dad as depressed. Maybe this is not depression, I countered—in silence—after questioning whether my virile, constantly exhausted, father was, in truth ... winding down.
As that thought might have scared Mom out of her wits, discretion watched over my parents, while I chose not to offer my supposition aloud. Seriously, when one is lucky enough to have beloved parents, both of whom have passed the life expectancy by many years, it can be hard to live without a crystal ball, showing minuscule changes going down hill from day to day.
I remember this next conversation with Dad during his early eighties when frustration had led to his experiencing a short bout of depression. As Dad had worked hard over his lifetime, we’d joked that upon retiring, he went to camp. When both were 67, my parents decided to join my family in the desert. At that time, though advancing in age, my warrior father took up camping, mountain climbing, canyon descents for which he had to qualify ... and valiant attempts at down hill skiing until his summersault falls down mountain runs came near to giving me a heart attack :) Dad permed his hair so as to swim, daily, without a care for grooming, and when trying his hand at tennis, he’d played to win. Though Dad was a reader, he was self defined as an adventuring outdoorsman by nature ... so when his knees gave out, I watched him wrestle with that bout of depression, which prompted his initiating this discussion with me:
The golden years are nothing but a bunch of malarky!
Why do you say that?
Look at me! I can't do a thing! I’m a bump on a log! I stand on the court, watching the ball bounce over there while my legs feel like lead, glued in place, right here. Can't get up a mountain or down a canyon. Bah hum-bug!
Upon hearing a warrior's despair, compassion flowed from my mind straight through my heart, causing my tone of voice to shift into low gear, and in hopes of soothing my life long hero, this insight fell out of my mouth ... Dad, I think you’re missing something important ... you’ve already enjoyed your golden years for over a decade ... and as a man's man, I think you're being really hard on someone, whose strength of spirit I've always had good reason to admire. So, I’m asking you to reconsider your stance and give my father a deeply deserved break!
Now, returning my smile, kind of sheepishly, Dad asks, What makes you admire me? I didn’t go to college, and I wasn't very successful with money.
Dad—are you equating success in life with education and money? Oh wait! Of course you are! That's a guy thing, if I've ever heard one. (And once women had set their aim at crashing through glass ceilings, equating success with money became a woman thing, as well.) Dad, everyone in your extended family adores you, including nieces and nephews, who live across the country and jump at the chance to spend time with you. Scott's friends still talk about how you’d amazed them! "Your grandfather climbed mountains with us. Mine sat in a chair."
But Annie, that's over. Look at me, now.
Dad, everything changes.
And unfortunately, all good things come to an end ...
But the good life is a life well lived for many reasons
And if your physicality is waining ... in your eighties ... consider how much good fortune you’ve had!! I had to give up on skiing, tennis, dance contests ... walking or driving any distance, at a much younger age ... and yet I appreciate my good fortune, every day. If I didn't, my spirit would be in a bad way. And what's life worth without a strong spirit to make the best of whatever lies ahead?
You have a great attitude, Annie, better than mine.
Dad ... Who do you think injected me with this attitude ...
Me? Yes, Dad... laughing, now ... YOU!!
Now, Dad's laughing and I get one of his great big bear hugs, the kind where he needs to be cautioned to be careful of my back :)
Dad, if you ask me, success at life's end is measured by a person’s ability to give and receive love ... and you’ll be at that top of that game, forever!
Upon holding my shoulders at arm's length, Dad beams at me (like his smile does, every day, when I turn my face toward the sky that's as blue as were his eyes) and to this very day, I can’t help but smile each time countless conversations with Dad come to mind, most of which ended with my father repeating this heart warming, closing comment: You're really something, 'tauchter' ... to which I'd reply ... Apple of your eye doesn't fall far from tree :)
Moral to story ... I knew Dad, pretty much through and through, and knowing him as I did, my instinct was on target, concerning Dad's energy source winding down. He lived, tiredly, oh so tiredly, for several months after that day when our rooster snoozed while three generations of hens clucked over matzoh balls, light as clouds, for Pesach, the holiday of freedom, celebrated each spring, by passing down a story, from one generation to the next, declaring your right to be treated with respect and my right to expect the same. Then on July 29th, the ring of a phone broke through the stillness late at night, and as we were at the cabin where the phone rarely rings even during the day ... I picked up the receiver with no doubt that something grave was going down ... and once again, The Line of Control came to my aid while making my way from bed to bed, awakening everyone, who upon locking up our mountain retreat a few minutes later, piled into our car, which sped, as fast as the wind, toward holding Mom in her greatest hour of need ...
Moral of story ... Knowing that it’s natural for love to speak a bit too loudly when concern for loved ones arises, I created The Line of Control in hopes of inspiring my kids to follow my lead at those times when family life wanders ever more deeply into life’s maze, where confusion overwhelms the mind, thus placing our think tanks on hold. Each time I make good use of The Line of Control and take a time out on the spot, my mind grows calm enough to think deep in hopes that insight may emerge thus allowing me to see an expanded picture of what may be needed to ease our minds during times of crises or when problem solving is in need of simplifying.
I really enjoyed reliving these poignant moments with my Dad by way of writing this post, today. I kind of felt like he was sitting on my bed, right next to me. (Leg still throbbing, raised on pillows while writing on iPad) And though it's getting dark outside, I just looked out of my bedroom window to see the outline of Dad's grapefruit tree, standing next to the outline of my mountain, which is reaching up toward the sky, where today's desert sunset is close to complete. Though tis far from easy to face the realities of the last stages of one’s beloved parents’ lives with clarity intact, doing so eases the mind upon reflecting back.
Beginning when my children were small and throughout each changing stage of my life, The Line of Control has calmed my mind, not only during moments fraught with crises but at most times when problems arise and deep thinking proves necessary, yet again.
And as this story shows, I remain thankful for having chosen to develop this ability to sift through confusing puzzle pieces until clarity suggested that the main source of Dad's exhaustion proved quite different from the source of a warrior's short bout of depression, which had been based in 'manhood's lost sense of pride'.
You see, over many years, Dad’s main source of self esteem had depended upon his youthful prowess, which had far outlasted that of his peers ... and thus, during his early eighties, his ego sustained a crushing blow upon condemning himself—old. As Dad absorbed my take on his emotional reaction, understanding dawned and thankfully, over the next few years, more than just a glimmer of his spark, returned—until those last few months, when he’d reached the ripe old age of eighty-seven, and no amount of deep thinking could deter mental, physical and emotional exhaustion from penetrating my beloved father as a whole. And during my hero's final decline, guess whose spirit had need to muster the courage to accept irretrievable loss with grace? Seven years after Dad's demise, my strength of spirit had reason to wear out, but that's a story for another time ...
Suffice, right now, to say that deep thinking does not always end in clarity, because deep thinking does not equate with having a crystal ball. Dad’s been gone for thirteen years, and during that time, I’ve worried over losing Mom, more than once, as has every member of my extended family, for good reason, which I’ll not delve into, right now. What I can reveal in short order is this: Each time we had reason for concern, Mom’s body, spirit and strength of will rallied, and we are planning to celebrate her 100th birthday, later this year. And as that uplifting thought connects my heart with my smile, I'll end today’s story by looking forward to writing a bit more about The Line of Control—which my mind conjured up as one of five peace-keeping tools during those decades that raced by, while raising three rambunctious boys :)
Sent from my iPad
