I have had trouble writing this post because I don’t want to
make it seem like I’m bragging about what a great daughter I was to take my dad
for 5 days. This is probably
something I should have been doing more often: giving my saintly mother more
regular relief from her tireless care of my father. But I hope with this preface I can write unabashedly of the
great adventures these 5 days entailed.
To summarize it simply it was as if we had a 3rd
kid in the house for 5 days. (And
not always an easy kid!) I chose
this analogy because we love my dad.
Having kids is difficult but it’s worth it because you love them. And sometimes, in even the rottenest of
days, it only takes one golden moment with them to make it all worth it.
As the week approached I began to look forward to this
unique opportunity to spend a ton of one on one time with my dad. By the end of it, I was less
enthusiastic. Although we shared
some lovely, tender moments we also had some moments when I thought I was going
to pull my hair out. And at the
end of it all? I packed his bags
with a brewing excitement and exhaustion I hadn’t felt since we left our own
kids to go to Whistler this time last year. And as I closed the door behind him after he left... I
missed him.
This dichotomy of emotions can only be accurately portrayed
with a play-like synopsis of a typical scene from the week. (see below)
Elderly man sits at
kitchen counter, eating breakfast made by loving daughter, reaches for hand
cream container.
“What’s this? Why is it at my
breakfast place?”
Loving daughter turns
away from tantruming 2 year old, stops brushing the teeth of 4-year-old, trips
over dog, and comes to breakfast table to answer his question.
“It is hand-cream, dad. You have sore knuckles”
Loving daughter goes
back to the bathroom to pick tantruming 2 year old up and starts re-brushing 4
year old’s teeth.
“Don’t be silly.
My knuckles are FINE.”
Elderly man pushes hand-cream away while loving
daughter patiently finishes brushing 4 years olds teeth and comes back in
kitchen, tripping over dog again.
“Dad. You have
been complaining since you got here that your knuckles are sore – look at
them! They are dry and scaly and
you have little cuts on them that hurt.
Put your hand-cream on.”
Elderly man inspects
his hands at length
“Well they
don’t look that bad to me. I don’t
need it. Thanks, dearie but I’m
really OK."
Loving daughter,
growing slightly impatient, argues with elderly man while making 4-year-old’s
lunch AND attempting to quell chaos of 2-year-old’s hair while dog sits on her
feet.
“Dad, REALLY can you just put the CREAM on your HANDS,
please??!??”
Elderly man looks sad,
taken aback by sudden outburst of loving daughter.
“OK fine! Don’t
get upset, I’ll do it if you REALLY want me to!”
(During this
conversation 2-year-old escapes wrath of dreaded comb requiring loving daughter
to chase her around the house as 4 year old drops his lunch on floor while
attempting to carry it to his backpack)
Elderly man puts scant amount of hand cream
on his forearm
Loving daughter abandons useless quest
of hair-combing, comes back over to elderly man, tripping over dog and walking
through spilled lunch on the way, to lather generous amount of hand-cream onto
sore cracked knuckles.
Loving daughter then
turns her attention to cleaning up the floor as 2-year-old and 4 year-old-climb
up onto stools beside elderly man.
Elderly man generously
shares his hand-cream with 2-year-old and 4-year-old.
Suddenly 2-year-old
begins to scream.
“MIA NO LIKE HAND
CREAM!”
(while frantically
trying to scrape hand-cream off her generously lubricated hands)
Loving daughter abandons
mess on floor to attend to re-tantruming 2-year-old.
Cue 4-year-old to start
crying.
“NO fair why
did SHE get so much hand cream?”
Elderly man graciously
gives 4-year-old MORE hand-cream, this time dropping some onto the same floor
that loving daughter has just cleaned.
Loving daughter scrapes
hand cream off of tantruming 2 year old, scolds 4 year old for using rude words
to his Papa and gets back down onto floor to clean up hand cream mess.
Dog walks by and licks
loving daughter in the face.
Out of the blue, entirely unprompted and
said as if merely a passing thought, elderly man muses openly to himself,
“Gee…my hands
are sore. Ooh – look! My knuckles are cracked! Lyssie – what should I do about that?”
Repeat this scene (or some variation of the above) three
times a day x 5 days.
Hand cream wasn’t the ONLY thing that my dad perseverated
on. His other choice conversation
starters included: what day it
was, where my mother had gone, when we were going to move into town, and
whether he could take us out for a nice dinner. Having anticipated the latter, I had booked a
babysitter for the last night he was with us. As the day wore on, though, instead of quelling his
repetitive questioning, the “yes we ARE going out for dinner tonight” merely
spurred him on. At one point on
Saturday afternoon he asked me every FIVE MINUTES if he could take Rob and I
out for dinner. A girl can only be
so patient and I finally called him on it and asked him WHY he was asking me
EVERY FIVE MINUTES!!!
I always hurt my dad’s feelings when I bring his poor memory
to his attention, but this time he had a good answer for me.
“I’m sorry, Lyssie,” he said honestly, “I am just worried
that you’re not ACTUALLY going to take me.”
It broke my heart.
I reassured him that we definitely WERE taking him out for dinner and that we
were going to have a lovely time and he was actually quite content (for a good 20 minutes) and then
suddenly disappeared. I have to
admit, I didn’t go and seek him out RIGHT away (I knew he was in the house and
safe) but when I did go to look for him I found him in his bathroom shaving (for
the second time that day) having already changed into an entirely new outfit.
It takes a LOT out of my dad to shave AND change his clothes. (Remember the effort it took to get him
to put his hand-cream on and multiply by 10)…so this sudden decision to shave
AND redress puzzled me
“What are you doing, dad?” I asked bemusedly,
“I’m getting
ready for dinner! Is this outfit
nice enough?”
This single moment, and the lovely dinner out we shared with
my dad that night put all of the hand-moisturizing moments into
perspective. I can’t say I wasn’t
waiting by the door when dad’s ride arrived to pick him up on Sunday afternoon,
but I will say this: I only lasted
until about 10 am the next morning before I gave in and finally called my mom.
I just HAD to know how his poor knuckles were doing…
(One of our more successful outings : Taking dad to Walmart where he go his very own Scooter!)
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