September 8, 2010

This photo was taken on Logging Road in Cape Neddick, Maine. The farmhouse my dad grew up in is just beyond the tree line.

When I walked in he was asleep, this morning. I pulled up a chair and sat right next to him and reflected on my own grief. On the table in front of me was a Saturday Evening Post magazine full of ads for Norman Rockwell paintings. As I flipped through it form beginning to end I wondered who reads this stuff. I couldn't think of anyone I know. His head tilted down, a bit to the left. His crop of white hair still abounding from his cranium like only a few days ago someone fertilized it. He sat slumped among others of his age. I bumped his knee with mine. His head slowly bobbed upward like a wave moving seaweed. He looked away from me at first and then I tapped his arm. Our eyes met. I said, "has it been raining."

As he looked away and out a distant window he said, "yes, for a few days." His head slowly tilted back down and his eyes closed. He didn't have time to realize who I was. I sat for a few more minutes among the bustle of the others. An exercise class was scheduled to start in a few moments, at 10 am and people were beginning to move into position. One resident was gyrating her hips and swaying to music that was coming from her head. I picked myself up from the chair and navigated my way around my dad. He was in a deep sleep. Walking toward the door Justin, the activities director, declared to me he thought they would be taking "him" to the Senior Olympics tomorrow. As I struggled to remember the keypad code I replied, "oh, good."

When I moved through the second door and out into the parking lot I just felt bad. To myself I uttered, "Oh God," six or seven times like a reflex. And like breathing I realized it provided no relief. I got in my truck and drove back to work.

March 15, 2010

Today is Monday. It has been raining all day and all day yesterday. We have considerable flooding here in the Northeast. I am tired of the rain and anxious to see the sun.

I drove Nathaniel back to Clark University in Worcester, MA this morning. It rained the 2 hour ride down and back. I hydroplaned in a few places.

Last night Nathaniel and I went to visit my Dad at Sentry Hill. Nathaniel didn't really want to go visit him. I didn't insist, though I did tell him that last week I told his grandfather that I would bring Nathaniel by when he came home for spring break. Like myself, Nathaniel felt guilty and we ventured out into the dark windy rainy night to see my Dad.

There is a brook that intersects our driveway and on the way out noticed the water was at the very top of the culverts. This could mean our culverts (2) are on the verge of being washed away. I called Sandra and we parked the other two cars on the opposite side of the brook from the house in case the worst happened.

My father was snoozing very lightly when Nathaniel and I walked in. He was sitting close to a large propane fireplace. It was very warm and comfortable. He recognized us and was happy to see Nathaniel. We took a long walk through the building and up some stairs. We chatted about nothing that seemed important but all enjoyed being together. He had misplaced his senior Olympic medals and we took a look in his room for them. Whereupon we found his new room mate in the room with only the bathroom light on. His name is Francis Raynes. He is from Kittery, he told us Cutts Island.

Francis seemed like a very nice person. He was friendly and had some dementia though not as advanced as my father.

My father also was very pleasant to be with. I am pleased (and proud) that he is so good natured. It is easy to provoke a smile from him. I am very pleased that Nathaniel did go with me. For many years I have had dreams that I didn't visit my grandmother, who lived next door, enough. I would wake up from the dreams which were so realistic and all though she had passed away years ago, I was hopeful that she might still be alive and I could visit her. Or sometimes in the dreams she was alive and I hadn't seen her in 10-20 years. And when I finally do see her she is much older than my recollections but happy to see me, forgiving. Yet I would still be laden with guilt.

I wondered last night if those dreams were to insure I don't let the lack of visiting become an issue with my kids. It is very strange but often I think of my Dad and am content knowing that I love him and he is safe. My need to spend time with him has diminished from over a year ago when he first went into Sentry Hill.

We hung out with my father for an hour and a half and said our goodbyes. As we did an older lady approached us with a walker and asked if she could leave with us. And then she asked us if she were dreaming. I told her I wasn't dreaming so I suspected she wasn't either. Nathaniel and I walked back out into the rainy dark. The stubborn dark night had not given an inch since we had gone inside. Windy, wet, wet. I am not a proponant of so much rain and even less of snow. So I had that to be grateful for, I suppose.