Disappointment

Today is Fathers Day 2019 and I write this with a heavy heart.  Growing up, my father showed me nothing but love.  He loved me and sacrificed for me as all good dads do.  He not only showed his love but also told it to me in words.  He encouraged me and told me how proud he was of me at every turn.  As I grew older, this made it hard for me to relate the cliched story of children, usually in their adult years, declaring that all they wanted from their dad was his love and acceptance and for him to be proud of them.  I had always felt both and come to cherish my dad all the more since so many seem to be lacking what I took for granted.   

Many years later as my dad entered his seventies, things began to change.  The fun loving man I once knew - the one that took me on countless bike rides and camping trips - was slowing replaced by a grumpy old man... and with good reason.  My mom died when she was 63 and he was 67.  Not only was she is his companion, she had also done all the cooking and cleaning for years.  Although he had mostly recovered from the stroke he had in his late 50's, the effects started to return.  This combined with smaller strokes and diabetes began to take a toll on first his balance and then his ability to walk and eventually his ability to even stand.  At the same time, he began to lose the dexterity of both hands in general, but especially in his left hand.  This made it extremely difficult to operate a phone, remote control, or computer.  Without the ability to stand or use his hands, simple tasks like getting dressed or even going to the bathroom became impossible.  One day at age 74, he woke up in his own home just like he had for the last 42 years, with no idea that it would be his last day there.  Then later that day, he had a fall resulting in a trip to the hospital.  From there he went to a series of assisted living facilities and eventually to a nursing home.   In short order, he lost control of his car, his finances, and even his home.  This (and the fact that it was literally my mom's deathbed charge to me) meant it was now all up to me and my sister to take care of him.

Early on, I adapted the mantra that I should do all I can to keep him "healthy, happy, and safe".  All my decisions regarding Dad were guided by this maxim.  I was soon to learn that I might have to settle for two out of three. I felt like so many times it fell to me to deliver the bad news to him.  "You can no longer drive."  "The assisted living cost this much money" "We need to change facilities again" ... and on and on and on.  Although in many cases, I was only the messenger, it begin to seem as though it was I who decreed all these things based on my will and wishes.   As a child, I never for a second had the sense that I was a disappointment to my dad.  He always demonstrated his pride and love for me and this continued well into my adult years.  Now, in the winter of his life, it was I that was forced to become the face of disappointment.   I believe that my sister and I did a good job of keeping him as healthy and safe as circumstances would allow.  I never seemed to be able, however, to make him happy - and this has been my greatest disappointment.

While I started this post and this thought process in June 2019, I did not finish it until January 2022 after having  time to process his passing in September 2019.