Not everyone gets to have their dad for 78 years. Some lose their fathers far too soon, whether to illness, accidents, or simply the passage of time.
Others never knew their dads at all. That is why, even though my dad lives in a nursing home now, I know I am lucky. Mine is still here. I can still hear his voice, see his smile, and hold his hand. It is not the same, but honestly, what is?
It is easy to focus on what has changed. My dad is no longer in the house where I grew up, where I could always count on finding him, sitting in the living room or in his den, reading something. But change is something my family knows all too well, especially since my dad’s plane crash twenty-five years ago.
We adjusted. We accepted our new “normal”. We also cussed it from time to time. Mistakes were definitely made. We made do. Would I change anything? Absolutely!
I hate that all of his grandkids lost the relationship they would have had with my dad. He was Cole’s, Seth’s, and Alexis’ biggest fan. They were the only grandkids who were born prior to his accident. Not that he does not love and adore all of his grandkids, but the relationship is not what I know it would have been.
It is not so hard for me. I know he is still my dad. He still remembers who I am, even if some days his memory is a little foggy. He tells stories, though, sometimes they loop back on themselves, and anyone listening may wonder if he is crazy – or I am. When I sit with him, even in a room that isn’t filled with the familiar things of home, we can still connect from time to time. The love hasn’t faded.
Having a parent in a nursing home isn’t always easy. There is definitely guilt. Should I visit more often? Should I do more to make his days brighter? Guilt is accompanied by sadness. How can one not be sad, watching someone who was once so strong confined to a chair, needing a lot more help with the most basic of things. Then there’s the reality that the roles have shifted; the man who once looked out for me now needs me to look out for him.
But I remind myself this stage of life is still a gift. I can still bring him his favorite snacks, still sit with him, but now we watch shows on the television, previously reserved to Friday nights while growing up.
I enjoy going down the street to his nursing home and turning on a football, basketball, or hockey game and watching it together, even if it is a re-run. He hasn’t seen them. One can still see his face light up when one of his grandchildren walks through the door. I enjoy watching him try to find their names and call out his familiar, “Hi sweetheart”.
I can still laugh with him, even if the people listening probably think we’re nuts.
When it gets tough, I remind myself, many people would give anything for just one more conversation with their dad, one more chance to hear that voice on the other end of the phone. I have that chance every day, and I try to not take it for granted.
It is true that life in a nursing home is different, but it does not have to be lacking of joy. I have learned to celebrate the small moments. For me it is enjoyable to be the reason he is able to Facetime my son or brother, giving them a few moments to catch him up on their lives. I am also glad I am able to make calls to my uncles and other family members so he can connect with them.
Sometimes, the greatest joy is simply sitting in comfortable silence. No need to fill the space with words. Just being there is enough. And God knows it won’t be long until a memory hits his mind and he erupts in an outburst of giggles. This makes me laugh every single time.
There are still ways to bring pieces of his old life into his new one. In addition to connecting him to family through technology, I tell him about friends who have inquired about him. On of my favorite things to do is to push him out into the home’s beautiful courtyard, just so he can feel the sun on his face. Of course, we sneak him in little treats. These little things matter.
Aging can be hard, for both the person going through it and for the loved ones watching. We know our dad is not the same. Now that he is aging, it is becoming more apparent. He has been living with a head injury for twenty-five long years. I have given up trying to correct him or make him do whatever I think he should be doing. The only thing that matters is he not be rude to those giving him the excellent care he is receiving. Some days that is a struggle, and for that, I am sorry. That is not my dad.
There will come a day when I won’t be able to visit him, when I won’t hear his voice anymore. But that day is not today. Today, I get to sit beside him. Today, we reserved the family room, we took a cake, and we spent some time with him on his 78th birthday. Today, I get to remind him how much he is loved. I am lucky.
So, if you are fortunate enough to still have your dad, whether he is in his own home, a nursing home, or anywhere in between, cherish him. Make the phone call. Stop by for a visit. Hold his hand a little longer. Because one day, you may look back and be grateful for every single moment you had.
Happy Birthday, Pops.
