In case you noticed, I wasn't able to write a post yesterday. Way too many obstacles. First, I must be alone in order to write something suitable for publication. Yesterday, this never happened. Others' demands of time and attention continue to pull me away from my personal priorities.
Everything is an emergency to the other person.
It's because I am a woman of peace that causes the difficulty - or impossibility - of making myself unavailable. Wrath directed towards me is inevitable. Am I just unlucky that these kinds of people are in my life? Or should I just face the fact that there are no coincidences, and I have created monsters?
I will accept another's observation that I attract needy people. That is a fact, and I am working on it.
I have been an enabler of bad behavior.
However, we do not choose our relatives, but we unwittingly can train them to behave in certain ways. The way I see it, we all attract certain types of people (for better or worse) into our lives, and those we are stuck with - relatives - we train. We teach them with our words, behavior, and affections to act a certain way with and towards us.
So maybe we can't change Aunt Sophie the drama queen, or Cousin Bob's drinking problem, or Uncle Bill's narcissism. But we can choose how much of ourselves we give them; how much time they spend with us.
As for the rest of the world, protect yourself. You are a beautiful, lush garden, but you need an iron fence around you. And a gate is important.
Working on it, working on it.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Pancakes
I'm noticing more and more my Dad's regression as my son matures. My son is fairly autonomous now as far as getting around, limited only by how long a distance he wants to walk. We're lucky to live within walking distance of downtown, schools and our church, so his feet can take him pretty much wherever he needs to go. Dad used to like to walk a lot too.
There was a pancake supper last night at our church. I dropped them both off at the church on my way to the music school. I went inside to make sure at least a few people knew that he was there without me. I had told my son do not let his Grandad walk home - even with him - since it would be dark out, and there are no sidewalks on that street. Even though it's a short distance back home (our house used to be the church rectory, after all), he can't see well as it is, less so at night. I told the person who had asked that I'd be returning at 8:30 and would pick them back up then. It seems silly for them to have to wait so long because of a short distance, I know.
Another woman heard me and said she'd bring them back home, bless her!
The point of this story is that my son no longer needs to be driven anywhere in town; now my Dad is the one who can't be out on his own, needs to be watched, needs to be taken care of. Caring for him feels like my son roughly around age 10.
The other day I had bought a pair of "isolation" ear buds for myself. I love listening to music of course, the purer the sound, the better. Afterwards, I realized I will never be able to use them, for the same reason I can't spend large chunks of time in my 3rd-floor office; I need to be always listening in case something goes wrong in the house.
Several months ago, a friend suggested to my Dad that he should go to the local senior center during the day. It's free, even better.
He didn't want to. What's wrong with being home?
Well, nothing. . . unless you're me. I am going to make a point of taking him there occasionally.
For me.
There was a pancake supper last night at our church. I dropped them both off at the church on my way to the music school. I went inside to make sure at least a few people knew that he was there without me. I had told my son do not let his Grandad walk home - even with him - since it would be dark out, and there are no sidewalks on that street. Even though it's a short distance back home (our house used to be the church rectory, after all), he can't see well as it is, less so at night. I told the person who had asked that I'd be returning at 8:30 and would pick them back up then. It seems silly for them to have to wait so long because of a short distance, I know.
Another woman heard me and said she'd bring them back home, bless her!
The point of this story is that my son no longer needs to be driven anywhere in town; now my Dad is the one who can't be out on his own, needs to be watched, needs to be taken care of. Caring for him feels like my son roughly around age 10.
The other day I had bought a pair of "isolation" ear buds for myself. I love listening to music of course, the purer the sound, the better. Afterwards, I realized I will never be able to use them, for the same reason I can't spend large chunks of time in my 3rd-floor office; I need to be always listening in case something goes wrong in the house.
Several months ago, a friend suggested to my Dad that he should go to the local senior center during the day. It's free, even better.
He didn't want to. What's wrong with being home?
Well, nothing. . . unless you're me. I am going to make a point of taking him there occasionally.
For me.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
March Forth
It's old news that daily exercise is healthy for your mind as well as your body. If you are like me and have a full dinner plate (and salad, bread, and dessert plates for that matter...), negative energies accumulate within. In spite of efforts to supress or deny them, this negativity expresses itself later in seemingly unrelated, unhealthy ways.
Backaches, headaches, irritability, illness, self-hatred, problems with just about any body part. Toxic build-up needs to be dissipated in some way. The wrong way is denial or attempting to push the negativity back down as if overstuffing a bag of rags with one's foot.
Emotions pop up again and again like a Jack-In-The-Box. Only this kind is anything but cute and funny.
There are many articles devoted to the effects of exercise on the mind and emotions, so I will leave any research you may need in your hands. Let me simply say that March is almost here, outside days are nearer, and the best thing we can do for ourselves is get out there, greet the day, appreciate the beauty.
Walk and observe.
Don't just breathe...smell the fragranced air.
Open your ears to intentional listening. What sounds do you hear?
Simplify your experience.
Get out your boots or trail shoes. Walk in mud! Splash in puddles (of melting snow at the moment!).
Find a plant you've never seen.
Leave a comment on how it went for you.
How did you feel after your walk?
March 4th is the day I always start something healthy; it's a day of "marching forth" into the world, and what lies ahead.
Blessings on your day.
Backaches, headaches, irritability, illness, self-hatred, problems with just about any body part. Toxic build-up needs to be dissipated in some way. The wrong way is denial or attempting to push the negativity back down as if overstuffing a bag of rags with one's foot.
Emotions pop up again and again like a Jack-In-The-Box. Only this kind is anything but cute and funny.
There are many articles devoted to the effects of exercise on the mind and emotions, so I will leave any research you may need in your hands. Let me simply say that March is almost here, outside days are nearer, and the best thing we can do for ourselves is get out there, greet the day, appreciate the beauty.
Walk and observe.
Don't just breathe...smell the fragranced air.
Open your ears to intentional listening. What sounds do you hear?
Simplify your experience.
Get out your boots or trail shoes. Walk in mud! Splash in puddles (of melting snow at the moment!).
Find a plant you've never seen.
Leave a comment on how it went for you.
How did you feel after your walk?
March 4th is the day I always start something healthy; it's a day of "marching forth" into the world, and what lies ahead.
Blessings on your day.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Triangulation
Family dynamics, like the flow of water, are ever changing; sometimes pure, sometimes polluted. The family is as necessary to us as water; similarly, misunderstandings are the sewage that contaminates what should be a healthy, healing, and restorative home.
And oh, how often those misunderstandings come about when a family member's thought process and hearing are impared. Let me share with you an incident I never saw coming . . .
Dad was in his room on the second floor, I was in my third-floor office. My son had just seen an amazing video on tv he wanted to tell me about. The door to the third floor is beside Dad's bedroom door, so of course he could easily hear my son as he called up to me describing the video. The subject was someone who had attempted to fill a propane tank at night, couldn't see what he was doing, and lit a match! This is all great stuff to a boy.
It so happens that Dad didn't catch the details of the story. It was something about a gas tank blowing up. When he asked my son what he was talking about, he answered, "Oh, nothing, Grandpa, I was just talking to Mom." It's easier to say that than have to explain.
A few minutes later my father came to me, looking angry:
"What's going on that I don't know about?"
"What do you mean?"
"I heard Anthony telling you about a gas tank blowing up. I know he was talking about the kerosene heater in the cellar. I know he did something, and I want to know about it. I want to know what's going on and why both of you are keeping it a secret!"
Whew.
I explained to him that we no longer have that heater. I also had to explain to him that my son was telling me about a video on tv, and that he told you "nothing" because it was easier to just say that than have to explain the conversation from start to finish. As I was doing now.
I think he got the drift, but he got the in last word by scolding me - "Well, I want to be told what's going on from now on!"
I need to wear one of those "helmet cams" so I can simply hit play when the need arises.
As you can imagine, my son wanted to know what he did to make Grandpa mad. I then had to explain how he had jumped to conclusions based on things he thought my son said and then reacted.
I cautioned my son that whenever he says something, Grandpa will think it's meant for him and ask for an explanation.
As a matter if fact, I stopped talking to Puddykins my cat, because it wasn't worth having to explain to Dad that I was talking to the cat, not him, and all I said anyway was that he looks so soft and silky.
And oh, how often those misunderstandings come about when a family member's thought process and hearing are impared. Let me share with you an incident I never saw coming . . .
Dad was in his room on the second floor, I was in my third-floor office. My son had just seen an amazing video on tv he wanted to tell me about. The door to the third floor is beside Dad's bedroom door, so of course he could easily hear my son as he called up to me describing the video. The subject was someone who had attempted to fill a propane tank at night, couldn't see what he was doing, and lit a match! This is all great stuff to a boy.
It so happens that Dad didn't catch the details of the story. It was something about a gas tank blowing up. When he asked my son what he was talking about, he answered, "Oh, nothing, Grandpa, I was just talking to Mom." It's easier to say that than have to explain.
A few minutes later my father came to me, looking angry:
"What's going on that I don't know about?"
"What do you mean?"
"I heard Anthony telling you about a gas tank blowing up. I know he was talking about the kerosene heater in the cellar. I know he did something, and I want to know about it. I want to know what's going on and why both of you are keeping it a secret!"
Whew.
I explained to him that we no longer have that heater. I also had to explain to him that my son was telling me about a video on tv, and that he told you "nothing" because it was easier to just say that than have to explain the conversation from start to finish. As I was doing now.
I think he got the drift, but he got the in last word by scolding me - "Well, I want to be told what's going on from now on!"
I need to wear one of those "helmet cams" so I can simply hit play when the need arises.
As you can imagine, my son wanted to know what he did to make Grandpa mad. I then had to explain how he had jumped to conclusions based on things he thought my son said and then reacted.
I cautioned my son that whenever he says something, Grandpa will think it's meant for him and ask for an explanation.
As a matter if fact, I stopped talking to Puddykins my cat, because it wasn't worth having to explain to Dad that I was talking to the cat, not him, and all I said anyway was that he looks so soft and silky.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Kindred Spirits
It's a joyful thing to find someone who can relate to your challenges. The conversation came up with my stand partner in one of the orchestras I play in. His 87-year-old father lives with him and his wife. I knew this for some time, but we got to comparing our fathers; I was amazed by how like my experience John's is. It seems we must have the same father! He told me of his dad accusing him of taking his money, of not saying things he has just said, of not doing things he has just done. John feels as I do, the need to correct him.
I'm starting to think trying to correct is the wrong tactic. Nothing is really resolved when I tell my father, "But you just said you paid that bill." He thinks I'm jerking him around, I get frustrated that he doesn't understand I am speaking the truth. He has no memory of what happened ten minutes ago; how can he not know? John told me of trying to correct his father too, with the same negative results. I felt huge relief knowing that I'm not alone.
Perhaps a better course of action would be to not argue with our older loved ones, but rather just drop the subject and forget about it. Why do we need to prove we're right?
Just forget about it. Chances are, our loved one already has.
I'm starting to think trying to correct is the wrong tactic. Nothing is really resolved when I tell my father, "But you just said you paid that bill." He thinks I'm jerking him around, I get frustrated that he doesn't understand I am speaking the truth. He has no memory of what happened ten minutes ago; how can he not know? John told me of trying to correct his father too, with the same negative results. I felt huge relief knowing that I'm not alone.
Perhaps a better course of action would be to not argue with our older loved ones, but rather just drop the subject and forget about it. Why do we need to prove we're right?
Just forget about it. Chances are, our loved one already has.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Guilt
As I write today's post, let me remind you that I will be adding (hopefully!) helpful information regarding family dynamics in multi-generational relationships. That is coming.
For the present, though, I am going through the most raw and surprising emotions I experience in the hope that it will strike a chord in you as well. Perhaps you will be reassured that you are not alone.
Guilt. The most unjustified of emotions. Largely self-inflicted and unnecessary. I have an endless supply of it. Here are some of my "justifications" for feeling guilty:
My son has no siblings. I am an only child and I swore, promised myself I would not have just one child. Siblings seem to be nice to have when everyone's grown up. And their kids a ready supply of friends to one degree or another. Would you believe, my son's father is an only child too? So my son has no aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, or nephews.
I am guilty for turning him loose in the world (when that time comes) with no family, not much of a support system. And believe me when I tell you there are other guilts I feel.
I resent my Dad's constant presence in my life. A truly "good" person would graciously tend to his/her aging parent without complaint, in payment for all the sacrifices said parent made for the gracious child's upbringing. A "good" person would happily look forward to each day spent with his/her parent, knowing that the remaining days together are numbered.
I, on the other hand, think of strategies to get away from him for little bits of time. Leaving home for my lessons is always good, and I don't even have to feel guilty about it as it is my job. Oh, wait. I do feel guilt over leaving my son soon after he gets home from school, though. But time away of my choice might be going to the library, for a walk, to lunch with a friend.
I often feel anger towards my Dad. But - I rarely if ever express it. Again, a "good" child should be thankful for this time with his/her parent, not anger! If only.
I don't do enough financially for either my son or my father. My Dad helps me out financially here and there. I should be supporting him, though, not the other way around. Guilty. My son doesn't get the same opportunities to go on vacations as most of his friends. My only income comes from my two hands...nothing comes in from the outside. I am guilty of being lazy (if I weren't my income should be greater, shouldn't it?), selfish (I chose self-employment over corporate dog-eat-dog America long ago). For the bad financial choices I made which makes my Dad and my son do without some things that I would be able to provide for them if I had been smart from the beginning, add dumb to my list of guilt.
Hold on a minute! Doesn't self-imposed guilt cripple us? How is it helping me get through it all? If I were a friend talking to me, what would I say?
What would you say to yourself?
Till tomorrow - remember "Rule #1: Be good to yourself."
Let's explore what that means, soon.
For the present, though, I am going through the most raw and surprising emotions I experience in the hope that it will strike a chord in you as well. Perhaps you will be reassured that you are not alone.
Guilt. The most unjustified of emotions. Largely self-inflicted and unnecessary. I have an endless supply of it. Here are some of my "justifications" for feeling guilty:
My son has no siblings. I am an only child and I swore, promised myself I would not have just one child. Siblings seem to be nice to have when everyone's grown up. And their kids a ready supply of friends to one degree or another. Would you believe, my son's father is an only child too? So my son has no aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, or nephews.
I am guilty for turning him loose in the world (when that time comes) with no family, not much of a support system. And believe me when I tell you there are other guilts I feel.
I resent my Dad's constant presence in my life. A truly "good" person would graciously tend to his/her aging parent without complaint, in payment for all the sacrifices said parent made for the gracious child's upbringing. A "good" person would happily look forward to each day spent with his/her parent, knowing that the remaining days together are numbered.
I, on the other hand, think of strategies to get away from him for little bits of time. Leaving home for my lessons is always good, and I don't even have to feel guilty about it as it is my job. Oh, wait. I do feel guilt over leaving my son soon after he gets home from school, though. But time away of my choice might be going to the library, for a walk, to lunch with a friend.
I often feel anger towards my Dad. But - I rarely if ever express it. Again, a "good" child should be thankful for this time with his/her parent, not anger! If only.
I don't do enough financially for either my son or my father. My Dad helps me out financially here and there. I should be supporting him, though, not the other way around. Guilty. My son doesn't get the same opportunities to go on vacations as most of his friends. My only income comes from my two hands...nothing comes in from the outside. I am guilty of being lazy (if I weren't my income should be greater, shouldn't it?), selfish (I chose self-employment over corporate dog-eat-dog America long ago). For the bad financial choices I made which makes my Dad and my son do without some things that I would be able to provide for them if I had been smart from the beginning, add dumb to my list of guilt.
Hold on a minute! Doesn't self-imposed guilt cripple us? How is it helping me get through it all? If I were a friend talking to me, what would I say?
What would you say to yourself?
Till tomorrow - remember "Rule #1: Be good to yourself."
Let's explore what that means, soon.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Frustrations
My intention in creating this blog was to post a new entry every morning. I've succeeded in the first part; the "morning" part . . well . . .
I needed to run some errands this morning. The usual places - one bank to make a deposit, another to open a new checking account, the post office. I announced my departure to Dad. Being a grown woman, I appreciate solitude and freedom from being needed once in a while. I was looking forward to time in the car listening to a cd. However, I do need to tell him where I'm headed and my expected return time. Unless I do, he might just call in a missing person's report.
Not so fast! My hand on the door knob, he asked me to wait a minute. He has some places to go himself. So what could I, a loving and caring daughter, say when he needs me? Uh, sorry but two's a crowd? Or, I need to have a private conversation with God?
I still have issues with myself, namely. . . the establishment and enforcement of boundaries. I know this, but the very people I need to protect my sanity from do not.
So off to the bank Dad and I go. He needs me to come inside with him to make sure he doesn't "screw anything up." Maybe it's good that I did, as his papers almost ended up in a wastebasket as he took them out of his folder.
If I weren't so mad all the time, his actions would be funny. Like, "if I didn't hate the world so much, I'd like it." I'm quoting myself.
The bank visit went ok. Then we had to go to borough hall to get a replacement tax bill because he says he can't find the original. This is nothing new; his paperwork system looks like a tornado visits our house at least once a week. It feeds on paper. Every time he can't find a paper my son and I are supposed to stop what we're doing and help him find it. I told him today his habit of making copies of every bill and check that comes in the mail has to stop. He has trouble telling the copies from the originals and files them together. Imagine trying to cash a copied check, then not knowing what happened to the original. Yes, it has happened.
Missions completed, we're back home. It was when gathering up my things in the car that I realized I didn't even do what I had set out to do in the first place! So Dad went inside, and I was able to go to the banks in solitude as I had planned. Hey, it looks like I planned it that way!
While in the bank officer's office setting up my new account, my cell phone rings.
It's Dad.
Which is a better time for me to take him to his accountant tomorrow, 9am or 11am? I told him 9:00 (to get it over with early in the day, to be honest).
"Well ok, as long as you make sure I get up early enough." Of course. Isn't that what I do?
Returning home, my cell phone rings again. It's a relative. Maybe you have one like this, too. He needs me to drive to a store 1/2 hour away to pick up a big sheet of glass. It just won't fit in his car. Are you kidding? But he's in a bind and doesn't know what else to do. His voice is filled with growing anger.
I offered that tomorrow I am nearer to the store and it would be more convenient for me to pick it up after my lessons are finished. I held to my guns on this.
Remember my saying I was working on boundaries? This seemed like a good opportunity to practice.
He wasn't happy, but did say he'd try to work something out for tomorrow. We'll see how that goes.
After I returned home I needed my lunch. Don't deny a middle-aged woman with hot flashes her lunch. Ever. As soon as I opened the door, Dad says to me from the dining room that he needs me to go through his mail pile. "I was waiting for you to get back home."
Being the master multitasker, I was able to prepare my lunch, eat it, AND look at his mail. Everything looked to be in order from what I could tell. I wasn't actually sure what he needed me to look for, and I think he forgot anyway.
So I finally am able to write this post.
Blessings to all who read here!
I needed to run some errands this morning. The usual places - one bank to make a deposit, another to open a new checking account, the post office. I announced my departure to Dad. Being a grown woman, I appreciate solitude and freedom from being needed once in a while. I was looking forward to time in the car listening to a cd. However, I do need to tell him where I'm headed and my expected return time. Unless I do, he might just call in a missing person's report.
Not so fast! My hand on the door knob, he asked me to wait a minute. He has some places to go himself. So what could I, a loving and caring daughter, say when he needs me? Uh, sorry but two's a crowd? Or, I need to have a private conversation with God?
I still have issues with myself, namely. . . the establishment and enforcement of boundaries. I know this, but the very people I need to protect my sanity from do not.
So off to the bank Dad and I go. He needs me to come inside with him to make sure he doesn't "screw anything up." Maybe it's good that I did, as his papers almost ended up in a wastebasket as he took them out of his folder.
If I weren't so mad all the time, his actions would be funny. Like, "if I didn't hate the world so much, I'd like it." I'm quoting myself.
The bank visit went ok. Then we had to go to borough hall to get a replacement tax bill because he says he can't find the original. This is nothing new; his paperwork system looks like a tornado visits our house at least once a week. It feeds on paper. Every time he can't find a paper my son and I are supposed to stop what we're doing and help him find it. I told him today his habit of making copies of every bill and check that comes in the mail has to stop. He has trouble telling the copies from the originals and files them together. Imagine trying to cash a copied check, then not knowing what happened to the original. Yes, it has happened.
Missions completed, we're back home. It was when gathering up my things in the car that I realized I didn't even do what I had set out to do in the first place! So Dad went inside, and I was able to go to the banks in solitude as I had planned. Hey, it looks like I planned it that way!
While in the bank officer's office setting up my new account, my cell phone rings.
It's Dad.
Which is a better time for me to take him to his accountant tomorrow, 9am or 11am? I told him 9:00 (to get it over with early in the day, to be honest).
"Well ok, as long as you make sure I get up early enough." Of course. Isn't that what I do?
Returning home, my cell phone rings again. It's a relative. Maybe you have one like this, too. He needs me to drive to a store 1/2 hour away to pick up a big sheet of glass. It just won't fit in his car. Are you kidding? But he's in a bind and doesn't know what else to do. His voice is filled with growing anger.
I offered that tomorrow I am nearer to the store and it would be more convenient for me to pick it up after my lessons are finished. I held to my guns on this.
Remember my saying I was working on boundaries? This seemed like a good opportunity to practice.
He wasn't happy, but did say he'd try to work something out for tomorrow. We'll see how that goes.
After I returned home I needed my lunch. Don't deny a middle-aged woman with hot flashes her lunch. Ever. As soon as I opened the door, Dad says to me from the dining room that he needs me to go through his mail pile. "I was waiting for you to get back home."
Being the master multitasker, I was able to prepare my lunch, eat it, AND look at his mail. Everything looked to be in order from what I could tell. I wasn't actually sure what he needed me to look for, and I think he forgot anyway.
So I finally am able to write this post.
Blessings to all who read here!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Waiting
As much as I make plans in order to avoid wasted time, waiting is an inevitable part of my day. It seems no matter how efficient I am, waiting by the back door on the way out is my destiny.
This morning, Dad needed to come with me as I went grocery shopping. I gave him a ten -minute warning before leaving - my measly attempt at planning. I had reminded him this morning that today was "shopping day" so he had his list, coupons, money, etc laid out on the kitchen table. Without the reminder I would have waited for him to gather up his various parts. That would be good for about 1/2 hour. Believe me when I tell you I've been down this road before.
So Dad has a 10-minute warning. "OK" is his reply. No sweat, this is going great; an hour for shopping, 1/2 hour to put stuff away. I should be able to have lunch at 11 and get some reading in before I leave for lessons at 3:00.
I tell him ok, time to go. He gets up from his chair in the living room, walks into the kitchen where I am waiting. This is going well! Oh, wait. He stops, says he'd better go to the bathroom first. The bathroom is upstairs. So there I am again.
Ten minutes later, we're on our way.
This morning, Dad needed to come with me as I went grocery shopping. I gave him a ten -minute warning before leaving - my measly attempt at planning. I had reminded him this morning that today was "shopping day" so he had his list, coupons, money, etc laid out on the kitchen table. Without the reminder I would have waited for him to gather up his various parts. That would be good for about 1/2 hour. Believe me when I tell you I've been down this road before.
So Dad has a 10-minute warning. "OK" is his reply. No sweat, this is going great; an hour for shopping, 1/2 hour to put stuff away. I should be able to have lunch at 11 and get some reading in before I leave for lessons at 3:00.
I tell him ok, time to go. He gets up from his chair in the living room, walks into the kitchen where I am waiting. This is going well! Oh, wait. He stops, says he'd better go to the bathroom first. The bathroom is upstairs. So there I am again.
Ten minutes later, we're on our way.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Daily Life Has Many Facets - Here Is One
Insomnia does not intrude on my sleep. After my kind of day - and I'm willing to bet your kind too - all my body cares about is falling into bed. Sometimes later, during the deadest of sleep - the stage when waking up to a loud noise leaves you feeling as if you had to burst out of fifty feet of water, gasping for air - Dad gets up to go to the bathroom. The route from his room to the bathroom takes him past my room. Always, I leave my door partially open so I will hear if something unusual happens. Always, his heavy, unsteady plodding wakes me.
As you know, he is 88. Tiptoeing and avoiding the squeaky spots in the floor are no longer his concern. He just wants to make it to the bathroom and back without crashing into stuff by his unsteady gait.
I listen until he returns and his bed makes that familiar creak and all is quiet. I have recently taken to putting my son's old baby gate across the top of the stairs, after Dad, in his sleepy fog, mistook the top of the stairs for the bathroom one night. He fell down the three steps to the landing. My heart pounded as I flew out of my bed, not stopping to grab my glasses (much less taking the time to put my contacts in). All I could see in the darkness with my -9.50 nearsightedness was a crumpled pile of white pajamas. What a rude awakening for him, expecting to be in the bathroom but instead on the stairs landing.
Part of me cried inside - what had become of my omnipotent Daddy?
As I helped him up and into the bathroom, he assured me in that understated way of his that he was fine. An hour or so later, I was able to relax and resume my sleep.
Since that night, the baby gate has allowed me to feel a degree of assurance that Dad will reach the bathroom without incident. Its presence, while reassuring, is also sad.
I am aware of the irony that his aging is following the same arc as my son's growth, only in reverse.
Food for another post.
As you know, he is 88. Tiptoeing and avoiding the squeaky spots in the floor are no longer his concern. He just wants to make it to the bathroom and back without crashing into stuff by his unsteady gait.
I listen until he returns and his bed makes that familiar creak and all is quiet. I have recently taken to putting my son's old baby gate across the top of the stairs, after Dad, in his sleepy fog, mistook the top of the stairs for the bathroom one night. He fell down the three steps to the landing. My heart pounded as I flew out of my bed, not stopping to grab my glasses (much less taking the time to put my contacts in). All I could see in the darkness with my -9.50 nearsightedness was a crumpled pile of white pajamas. What a rude awakening for him, expecting to be in the bathroom but instead on the stairs landing.
Part of me cried inside - what had become of my omnipotent Daddy?
As I helped him up and into the bathroom, he assured me in that understated way of his that he was fine. An hour or so later, I was able to relax and resume my sleep.
Since that night, the baby gate has allowed me to feel a degree of assurance that Dad will reach the bathroom without incident. Its presence, while reassuring, is also sad.
I am aware of the irony that his aging is following the same arc as my son's growth, only in reverse.
Food for another post.
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