Senior Olympian

Yesterday morning I attended a 6 month meeting at Sentry Hill for my father. My sister and I met with the Social Worker, Head Nurse and Nutritionist. The meeting lasted for about 15 minutes. Among the issues discussed were his recent TIA.

On Friday, September 11 as I was driving to my son Silas' first home cross country which was at York High School I received a call from a nurse at Sentry Hill. She told me they had found my father on his knees in the outdoor courtyard. He was very disoriented and confused. They had already called an ambulance. I switched destinations and arrived at Sentry Hill in time to see him being place in the ambulance and then followed him to York Hospital. They gave him an MRI, xray and ultrasound. We were there for about 3 hours. They released him a decided he didn't have a stroke, rather a TIA.

We returned to Sentry Hill at about 8:30 and were greeted by a nurse who had a huge hug and very kind words for my Dad. She immediately settled him in a attended to his hungry stomach.

The last few times I visited my Dad he had a medal that said "senior olympics." He told me that he paid $200 for it. And then told me he won it and beat 200 people to get it. He was beaming with pride as he showed it off to me. He keeps it in his front pocket and cherishes it. Yesterday at the meeting I found out he did win it at an event Sentry Hill takes its residents to in Sanford, Maine. The social worked told me that he did compete with 200 seniors and won several events.

As my father and I were walking yesterday he asked me what I thought about his medal. I told him I was very proud of him and that as far as I know he is the first Olympian in our family. He grew a very large smile, he was truly impressed with himself. It was very touching.



After I visited my Dad I stopped at the barber shop for a hair cut. I jumped into a seat (no wait). The barber started chatting and asking what I had been up to. She has cut my hair once in the past, so we are barely acquainted. I told her about my Dad at Sentry Hill and she figured out who he was when I told her my name. She exclaimed, "Oh, you are Haven's son!" She told me she used to see him at the York Hospital cafeteria and he always had some sort of old tools to show her. She was very enthusiastic about knowing him and asked me to say "hi" to him for her.

September 12, 2009

I woke up early this morning (for me), around 5am. Couldn't get back to sleep so I went downstairs on the couch and watched part of a movie on showtime. It was called the The Creator. It was about a mad professor at a research university using cells from his beloved and dis ceased wife to create a clone. He was also extracting eggs from a nympho maniac he had friended for stem cells. He was a much older man and she was 18. They became lovers. At the same time he recruited an assistant who was a student and they began a strong friendship that was uncharacteristic. I don't recommend the movie but it did get me out the door with my camera and down into the woods.

I took lots of pics. I was in an area where my father and I spent lots of time hunting when I was growing up. I also spent lots of time down here with my Aunt Evelyn who owned the property before my Dad and then myself. My kids grew up in these woods and as I walked along there were still artifacts testifying to their long ago prescene. All of these thoughts co-mingled in my brain. It felt euphoric, daunting and lonely.

The late summer is particullary beautiful down there. It is just behind my house. So many memories came back of my Dad and I down there, looking along the river banks for deer tracks.

I let the feelings and emotions swell up. I remembered how I love the smell of applying gun oil on the guns when we returned from hunting. I remembered the smell of chain saw exhaust synonomous with seeing my father. I longed for the multitude of memories that I cherish as I was in this place that we loved to frequent. Where we were nearly always rewarded with the site of a deer. The early morning light was so beautiful.




I sat down on the river bank and began a poem. But was interupted by a huge wave of emotion. I started crying. I sounded more like a damn fool than I could imagine. I tried to stop my pathetic whaling to no avail. I needed a good cry. I did manage to write a bit of a poem. The end was like this.

"I love you Dad"