My father is dying. He is probably in the last couple of days of his life. It has been a rough few weeks for many - my children, my sisters, my brothers, their families, my father's wife, and the list goes on. It has not been a quiet, peaceful journey for him. It has been ugly and painful to witness, as it has been going on for some months. A roller coaster ride - good days and bad - I don't think my patience and emotions have ever been tested so much.
While I am fortunate to have this time and be able to help care for my father, I do not like what I've discovered about myself in the process. But that is something I'm going to keep to myself, because to put it in the written form will cement it in my mind forever. I hope that time brings back a balance to my life that allows me to put some of the low points behind me and dispel the painful thoughts and feelings that have shown themselves in recent weeks.
My father is a good man. He is a retired Navy commander - not one for caring and affectionate exchanges, or for high praise or approval, deserved or not. He says what he thinks, often not filtering for how it might hurt. One of his mantras when I was growing up was "I may not always be right, but I am never wrong." And yet he is a brave man, fighting in World War II as a submariner; was a naval aviator; an engineer; a faithful Catholic, and a father of twelve. I have so many wonderful memories from childhood, and he did something right and has given me eleven siblings, each unique and different. Plus he and my mother raised twelve children! Twelve children! There should be a medal for that! My mother died just shy of their 50th wedding anniversary. My dad took such loving care of her for the last couple of years of her life when she had breast cancer. She died at home. I remember him lying in bed with her, talking of their courting the day before she died - we were privy to this only because of a monitor that was set up to keep "ears" on mom in her last days. It felt a sacred moment. She went to sleep on a Tuesday, and died on a Wednesday. It was short and peaceful. I guess I thought my dad's death at home would be the same. His has been a battle - he's cried out surrender, but that has not happened yet. I believe for the first time, my dad may be feeling fear - fear of what is on the other side - fear that there is nothing - fear that when he breathes his last breath, that's it.
I believe that each of us in my family had very different experiences with our parents, depending on our gender, temperament, and birth order. I'm one of ten middle children - fifth in birth order. I remember a happy childhood - always a new baby on the way - little ones around to take care of and love - always someone to play with. Wonderful memories - Christmas; Dad reading poems at bed time; Dad taking us out on the boat and teaching us to water ski; Devon pool all day every day in the summer; sharing a room; Ghost in the Graveyard; Kick the Can; Hide and Seek; singing; "plug ins" after dinner. I had to learn to be flexible, not sweat the small stuff, to be independent, to find work. I learned the things I didn't want to be as a parent - and yet I often heard myself sounding just like my mom or dad. I have a feeling that is a perpetual challenge for each generation. But what I'm trying to say is that despite my dad's shortcomings that have been especially evident since my mother died sixteen years ago, I got an amazing foundation for life, and eleven strong interesting sisters and brothers, thirty plus nieces and nephews, and fifteen plus great nieces and nephews. I got to learn to get along with many personalities all under one roof - all different ages - males and females. What I might not have gotten from my parents busy with twelve children I got in spades from my siblings. And I don't think I would change any of it. Because it would change who I am now - and I think I turned out pretty well. I wouldn't want to have a vote on it at this particular time in my life!
Maybe I'm viewing it all through rose colored glasses, but I think I'm more realistic then that. Plus I now have my own parenting mistakes for comparison. I think my dad did well. And his greatest gift of all to me is my brothers and sisters.
So, dad, if you're able to read my blog when you've taken your last breath on this earth, know that you are loved, and in fact you'll live on in all our hearts - and in our personalities and temperaments and traditions and parenting. We've all learned lessons from you that have shaped our lives and made us who we are. Thank you! I love you.
