This was my favorite image of my dad this past year. Because it was just… him. It’s how I remember him as a kid. Coming home from work. Grabbing a book. And sleeping on the couch. And snoring. Half through his nose (which he broke numerous times) and half through his mouth. My son does a perfect impression of it. It’s a snore then a whole breath like the neigh of a horse. It’s a beautiful sound. Because it’s… him.
…………………………………
A few years ago I sat in a sterile room with my parents. I had slept on the floor of a waiting room the night before.
The doctor was talking to us about options. DNR’s, life support. Life changing decisions
And after listening to the surgeon, my father turned to me and asked…
“What do you think we should do?”
Really wanting an answer. His ice blue eyes were pleading with me. I had never seen that before.
I’d never been asked those kinds of questions. I thought I was there for moral support.That was the moment that I knew my role as a daughter had changed. It was that moment I had to grow up into a different type of adult. A different type of daughter.
And I gave my answers the best I could.
We’ve had to navigate a lot of new things these last few years.
My father will show up on my doorstep two hours after a phone call. But also let me chauffeur him around while my mom and I bicker in the front seat about how to use google maps and whether or not installing will cause the government to start tracking you.
But he is also very aware of space needed….. as I of course inherited his innate ability to be ok doing my own thing.
He’s had to see me go through things that I really didn’t ever want either of my parents see me go through. He watched quietly as a nurse took all the skin off my hand one day. Fingers to wrist. And then calmly asked if I could still go on vacation the next week (which the answer was of course… yes) and then he drove me home with my tears streaming the whole time because the pain was almost unbearable. He’s had to see me in the hospital many more times than I have him. This past year he laid in bed with me and read his books. Not talking a lot. Just being there. Always every morning and night saying “baby girl… do you need anything?.. which most meant can I feed you something. He’s always good at getting me food I really shouldn’t be having. (Subway sandwich and a Snickers an hour after I had a baby… I’ll never forget it.)
Parents shouldn’t have to still be doing this at my age. And I will do my best not to have them have to.
As he’s grown older, he’s grown into his own father. More of an observer. More quiet. I think it comes with age. Not needing to hear our own voices quite as much.
That being said….
My father, will always be my very own superman. Strong enough to hold me in the air on the palm of his hand. I will never picture him differently. Strong and tough and soft….he had soft spots. I am one of them. And I won’t ever deny that. I respect him and love him. And I can’t thank him enough for everything he’s taught me in my life.
And also…
The best gift this past year.
My shower chair.
Thank you for my shower chair dad. I hope I never have to let you borrow it.
