Emotions. Good and/or Bad.
I wish I had cried more with my Dad. In front of him. I vividly remember the news announcing that this ordinary time transformed into worst day of my life. But the actual moments in the hospital, with Dad, are hazy.
Given who were both are (I can’t write were), we jumped into the problem-solving. “Here are the bills that you need to pay each month, and these are the ones that are on auto-pay. The plumber is coming on Tuesday. Cancel my tennis match and or see if someone can get me a sub. Let the church know that I can’t deliver communion this weekend. This is where I keep ‘xyz’ information. Keep Mom at home as long as possible….just in case”. We were leaping into action, him on a gurney and me filling three pages of loose-leaf paper from my finance class earlier in the day. We plugged the holes in this massive life change, just to slow the tide, to make this incredible shift a bit more bearable. More manageable. Because Dad and I like to manage. Fix. Solve.
But did I cry? I don’t recall. I am sure that I teared up, after talking about all that he needed me to do, and when we got to the “just in case….you know how much I love you”s.
Of course we were in shock and didn’t know what would occur in the next day with surgery or in the year to come. But I wish I found ways to emote more with my Dad. Just so that he could be my Dad, not the patient, not the suddenly sick man, not someone who needed us to take over so much of his life. But just my Dad and his youngest daughter.
This is not a regret….because HECK NO, Dad was big on “have no regrets in life”. He meant this from a “don’t dwell on something that happened. Rather learn from it and move on” mentality. And I strongly value this ideal- experience, reflect, and if need be change as you go forward; but don’t regret. I know that in those moments, I was fully being me. As I look back and miss my Dad, of course I don’t miss the “here’s the paperwork on that bill” conversations. I miss connecting with my Dad, sharing my heart, my feelings, my love, and my emotions with him. And because I can’t have that in the same physical way anymore, I wish I found more ways to do it previously.
The irony is, this is exactly the opposite of what I am doing with Mom. I want to protect her from my tears, from my sadness. And while she is still my Mom, I can’t share this pain with her due to Alzheimer’s. Mostly, I am grateful for the glimmer of grace I see in this situation- that maybe Mom is spared this huge sorrow of loosing Dad. But I miss her too. And I want to see no pain, such as this knowledge, fallen on her.
Sitting with her today, the aging musician wowing us with his piano skills, I felt so deeply. It was a raining, dreary day. One both Mom and I hate. I wanted to be able to miss Dad with her, to show emotion, to be able to comfort each other. And while I am firm in our family decision to not bring this sadness on to Mom, isn’t does’t make me wish any less that she could be here, right now in that way.