Just a thought… If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. [From the film The Crow]
First off, welcome in – and I hope you had a great weekend. Here on lower Vancouver Island (not to be confused with the great big city of Vancouver on the mainland, a ferry ride away) the weather has been sunny and perfect, unseasonably warm. And what a way to show off Sidney to Cindy, my older sister, who is here for a few days (all the while, lamenting the hardships of Canadians in Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Alberta, Northern BC and Ontario right now).
She’s actually one of my two older sisters, but all four of us (I’m third in pecking order) gathered last week for the first time in three years, a one-hour flight away in Kelowna, BC. The occasion was to get together, yes, but also for celebrations: on Wednesday of this week, my father turns 92, while last Friday the eldest of us, Heather, marked 68 years and is going strong. Cindy, Leslie and I were along for the cake!
The visit with Dad was bittersweet. While he could name one of his four daughters who wasn’t present the first drop-in, sister Cindy, who lives in Ajijic near Guadalajara in Mexico, is convinced he didn’t recognize her. To be fair, it has been three years since they’ve been together, and in that time Dad’s memory has only faded further.
He doesn’t have many words to say, but when we were singing along with entertainment in the group lounge at his care home, he certainly knew all of the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine.“
We know he’s still in there, and we all shared love and laughs while Dad smiled his partly-toothless smile. (He doesn’t bother wearing the replacements, and as teeth break, as long as he’s not in pain, he seems not to mind that they aren’t there. But you can bet your bottom dollar that if Mom was still around, she’d be saying, “Donald! Put in your teeth!”) Oh, and his hearing aids are but a memory. His electric shaver needed replacing after it went “walking” (which happens a lot in memory care) but we got on that right away. For all we knew he tossed it himself!
No more nagging about teeth, hearing, or even a three- or four-day beard. We let him be, wherever he is in his world now. When Mom came up in conversation, he didn’t ask about her this time, another change. It’s somewhat of a relief not to say she’s away visiting; that lie has been retired. There are no more truths to break his heart.
As for ours? Well, we said “Poor Daddy” plenty as we talked before and after our visits with him. We made clear to each other that there is no way we’ll be sticking around if or when we are no longer “here.” Just how that comes to pass, we don’t know; at the lawyer’s last week to sign our wills, that very topic came up and, no, there’s no booking MAiD in advance, or having a list of criteria that our caregivers can check off to know that we’d want to go. My sister Cindy talks of a pill in Mexico that people can avail themselves of to choose when to say “adios.” As far as I know it’s just talk…but I like the idea.
I didn’t feel the pain I thought I would, watching Dad slip away as he has. We all have the “it is what it is” stoicism surrounding the demise of our father’s brilliant mind, and no amount of tears or wishing can change what’s happening. We choose instead to be grateful to be able to stroke his hand, to sing with him, to help him eat a gorgeous cake on a sunny day and to take pictures that will let us remember him: cheerful and smiling widely even now, in no pain, and without a care in the world except wondering when he might get to bed for a nap.
Come to think of it – right down to the naps – that’s who he has always been. Aren’t we lucky?