Those Eyes

 My parents were up for a visit to commemorate the surplus of Pisces in our immediate family.  After a lovely weekend of celebrations we were met with the unfortunate reality of Monday morning and all that ensues.  Getting both kids to their respective schools as well as both parents to work on time is a daunting task at the best of times; when you throw two grandparents into the mix it ads an added layer of helpfulness AND chaos.

Today’s craziness had the surprise component of my father's early wake up.  So amidst the lunch making, backpack-packing, last minute book reading, teeth brushing, breakfast eating, and snow pant adorning, we had to take turns running upstairs to reassure my dad of where he was, what he was doing and where we all were. 

The system, though somewhat inefficient, was working.  We were making progress.

At one point I had run upstairs to get a hairbrush (yes, the infamous hair brush) when I saw my dad sitting on his bed with his top half dressed, and his bottom half 90% done with the exception of his pants that were pulled up just above his knees.

He was sitting there very still, cane in hand, staring at the wall.

“Dad?”  I asked cautiously,  “what are you doing…??”

“Oh, Lyssie GOOD.” He said with a sigh of relief, “Come help me.  I can’t remember how to put my pants on.”

He looked up at me with a mix of helplessness and relief in his eyes.

Oh, those eyes…that once read Ulysses and The Great Code and everything every written by Plato.   That have seen the inside of all of the great art galleries, museums and churches throughout Europe.

That ravenously soaked up every lecture given by Northrop Frye at the University of Toronto and experienced life in the halls and dormitories of Cambridge University.

Those eyes, that once chased pucks and players on the frozen outdoor rinks of Cortina, Italy, and later meticulously scrutinized novice hockey players (Gretzky included) from across Ontario.   

Those eyes now begged me to help him.   

“Sure, Dad” I said as I scooped my arm under his shoulder, “Let me hoist you up and it’ll make things easier.”

We got him up and I pulled his pants on for him, buttoning them up quickly before he landed back on the bed.

“There you go – easy!  You’re all dressed.”

“So I am!” he said joyfully.

And with a quick kiss on the cheek and a reminder that his beloved wife was downstairs, it was back to the rush for me.  Pushing away the sadness of this moment, I was left with one single thought of comfort: for today, at least, those eyes still know who I am.