Moments of self-realization these days tend to be less “Aha” and more, “well crap”. Navel gazing tends to simply illustrate how large my belly is and not how deep my thoughts are. Recently there have been a few moments that have illustrated how my well- intended actions are really just a cover for some of my deepest insecurities.
My dad is 93. Just in the past few months he has lost most
of his mobility, a lot of his acuity, and sadly some of the humor and good
grace that has always been his character trait. So over the past year I have
been trying to “get his affairs in order”. This has all been done with the
highest sense of duty and dedication. We have arranged his estate, we have made
sure all the contingencies have been rehearsed, and I am confident that the
transition will be smooth and seamless. During all this time I have been
keeping my siblings informed, I have made sure all was above board, I have even
sought council and listened to advice regarding all the aspects of caring for
an aging parent. To the best of my abilities I have tried to make sure he and
his wishes are fully implemented.
And I have fooled myself into thinking that I was doing it
for his good. When in reality I was doing it to make my life easier when the
final moments happen in the not-to-distant future. So the moment was a “well
crap” moment in my life. I would have preferred the “Aha” moment.
My question is a
simple one. Have all these efforts made this a better moment for him or for me?
You see at some level I think it is a way for me to sponge up the little
remaining moments with him. Every time I go see him we end up working on some
aspect of his business. Of course some of that is because he can’t remember
from one visit to the next what we have done. He gets something lodged in his
head and becomes anxious that this issue is left unresolved. When one of the
other siblings or step-siblings ask about any of his life he gets confused and
consequently anxious. I have tried to coach the rest of the crowd to simply
tell him that I have it handled, but the anxiety remains and the questions keep
coming. But as I continue to handle the
issues the question nags at me, “Is this what HE needs at this moment?” How can
I know that his preference would be a nice conversation about the farm, or
Kiwanis, or the bus ministry from years ago? But the rest of it may be the
selfish knowledge that this is the only thing that will help me deal with the
final transition. Then I spend the ride home, morose, close to tears, and
wondering what happened to the funny, hyper-active, compassionate guy that I
have known for 60 years. And wondering about my own motives.
So the line from Kevin Costner in “A Field of Dreams” sticks
in my head and in my throat. “What’s in it for me?” Burned with shame and
remorse all at the same time. I suspect, to my chagrin, that what is in it for
me is a way to cope with his absence. We are interesting creatures that we can
build our own rationalization even knowing we are doing so. And it works.
In some ways I already miss him. The family calls me “little
Grady” and it is a misnomer. I look like him, act a little like him, but fall
short of his integrity and his accommodation to people and life. I will miss
those guideposts. Simply put, I will miss him and the knowledge that he is
here.
Godspeed to those who know this part of the journey well. I
seem to spend a lot of time looking at the map and wondering if I have wandered
off the path a little. Sigh.
Don
