my dad (lyn)

He worked until he was 80 or so.  He played tennis until age 85.  He had a spark that was easy to ignite.  But three summers ago my dad pulled a groin muscle playing tennis.  And since then, his life, and my mom’s, has been compromised.

What started with a pulled groin soon expanded to other things.  Arthritis.  A knee that needed to be replaced this past February.  Less steadiness on his feet.  More forgetful.  A few falls.  He is 87 and old age has finally caught him in its ugly clutches.  My once vibrant father is a shadow of the man he once was.

My dad’s hearing has been bad for a few years, but vanity prevented him from getting a hearing aid.  At least that ‘s what the rest of the family has always thought.  That, and the fact that a hearing aid to my dad is an indicator of age.  It doesn’t matter that his 60-year-old son-in-law has worn one for maybe twenty years.

But today my dad walks slowly and carefully, with a cane.  He also has a walker.  He no longer drives.  It takes him a while to get up from a chair.   He spends most of his day sitting in front of the TV, but doesn't really watch.  He sleeps often.  He has totally lost his appetite and has become frail.  My dad, though not a large man, is a strong one, in every regard. My nephews, until recently, would still lose to him in arm wrestling.

My dad has fallen in love with my mom all over again.  She does everything for him, and never complains.  It’s what their life is now.

I look at my father, sitting at the kitchen table.  He is happy to be there, surrounded by his family.  But I miss his energy.  His passion.  His appetite for everything. His big personality lies dormant.

We sit at dinner and as always, it’s a noisy affair.  Three conversations going at once.  Pass this.  Have more of that. 

“Alexander here, have more steak.  Otherwise we’ll just throw it out.” 

“Why doesn’t Jack like steak?”  
“Remember, it’s too much effort to cut the meat.” 

“Here, have more corn.  I don’t even check it any more before buying it.  It’s all been so good.” 

“Hey, you can watch TV on that iPad?”  “How do you do that?”

“Vivien rented her house again.  I doubt she’ll need a baby sitter this summer.  Sorry, Alexander.”

“Sally, tell us about your boyfriend’s job interview.  What happened?”

 “Lyn, I think I’m ready to learn how to use the internet and do email.” (This from my mom, though we know her interest is dubious, at best).

Overlapping conversations.  And through it all, my dad sits and listens and smiles, occasionally offering a humorous remark.

I love him as he is, but miss the man he was.