My Dad

I am going to share some personal things that involve medical issues I won’t get into, but concern a parent. So if that is a tough thing for you, this is a place to bail. My point in sharing this is because writing it helps me and my own process for what I am feeling, but also to normalize the feelings around something like this. There is grief involved, sort of a pre-grieving process, and that is something that can both soften the blow but also make it feel like a wound that simply does not heal fully, and remains raw and somewhere between uncomfortable and painful.

A little over a month ago, my dad went into the hospital. The initial shock of that was substantial to me, and I spent a lot of time feeling really emotionally raw and drained. In the first days, there were a lot of moments when I cried when I was alone after I visited him in his room. Every day, I would leave feeling a level of exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical exertion or a lack of sleep. He seemed to be making progress, and the words from the doctors seemed to be promising, which lifted some of the sense of doom I was feeling. Being pretty adept with my MD from Google, I was acutely aware that, regardless of his progress, my time with my dad was going to be far shorter than I had banked on. The question that lingered then, and continues to haunt me now, is just how much shorter. He stepped down the level of care he was at, and his condition worsened quickly.  So he went back to the hospital, where they have worked to get him back to being stable, but at this point, things remain in a place where there is a lot of uncertainty, which has never been my comfort zone. I like a level of predictability and consistency, and this offers none of that.

My dad was never my role model, not because he sucks or had issues, but I think more because I never really had role models. For someone who struggles so much with wanting to be liked, I did not really follow anybody as a template for how to live my life. I just tried to be inoffensive to the point of my own pain at times, which may be something I learned from him. I only know my dad as “dad,” but I see how he is with others, and while I have seen him angry, I seldom have seen him in conflict or engaging in a spirited debate. I could go into all the reasons he is the way he is, but ultimately, this is not about his story, but rather about my story and my experience. I was fortunate to have him as a dad because he was always around. He never had work that took him away from me, and he was involved in my sports teams from an early age, and also with my sister when she was old enough to get involved in sports. I remember him clearly being tired after work, still agreeing to go out and play catch with me, or even go to the field and pitch to me so I could practice hitting. As a parent, I know how little I want to do some days after work, and I suspect my job is both less taxing and also more fulfilling than his was. But he showed up.

He has not always been someone who expressed a lot of emotions, and one of my biggest regrets in life is how I reacted when he did. When I graduated high school, my dad, clearly being quite overcome with emotions, walked up to me on the football field, and while I can’t remember what he said, it feels like he was telling me how proud he was, and he kissed me full on the lips, which he had not done since I was really young. It caught me off guard, and I remarked to my mom and probably other people, which probably made him feel bad. But, now I recognize that level of emotion because there are so many times since I became a parent that I feel a desire to scoop my kids up and tell them how much I love them and how much they mean to me. I can’t imagine what it will be like when they get older, but I am fairly confident I will cry about it. A lot.

As an adult, I reflect that I think I always wanted that perfect Hollywood moment where he imparted wisdom to me over a beer in the golden hour while we were fishing. However, he isn’t a fisherman, and he seldom drinks, but the feeling of wanting that moment lingered for me. Perhaps the lesson was in showing up and being there, like he was when my kids were born, and how he was one of their primary caregivers, because my parents were able to take care of my kids before they were able to go to school. I watched as he showed my kids love and patience, but was also a constant and familiar presence to them. I have countless pictures of them cuddled up in his lap in many different chairs across many different locations.

When I got divorced, he was the moving crew with me, and that was the first time I was able to see he was aging, because he needed more breaks and was moving more slowly. When my abusive relationship reached its inevitable end and I was hurting, he was there for me, sitting alongside me watching Ted Lasso again, and bringing food. Making sure I did not feel alone and that I was fed. I tried on one of those days talking about my emotions, and he looked sort of like a deer in headlights, but he tried, and he stayed…and kept coming back.

I think for me today, that is the hardest part. He has always been there and has always come back, and I don’t know how many more days or how many more times I will get to say that. I am not ready to lose that or him, and I am utterly helpless and powerless to do anything. All I can do is offer him what he offered me: being present, spending time, and making sure he eats. It really fucking sucks and it hurts, but I can’t change it or fix it. I’m not ready to let go and say goodbye, but every day feels important and like I can’t miss a moment.