Last year I blogged about the awkwardness I felt at flying home and being greeted at the airport by a demented father. This year there was none of that. Only Mum waiting at the airport on her own to pick me up. How things change.
The house showed signs of his absence. The usually immaculate lawn was unkempt (although generously cut by a family friend), the garage looked abandoned, even the dog was lonely without his master.
I went to see him in the nursing home. He was slow and shuffling. He looked calm, but not enjoying life. He asked me about work and whether I had a girlfriend. He told me about how he was going and all his medical problems and I reassured him the nurses would look after him. He told me about all the things he wanted to do when he got home, not realising he wouldn't be going home... ever.
I gave him his Christmas present and he stared at it in confusion. "How do I open it?" I showed him how to unwrap a Christmas present, one fo the most basic things in life that even infants manage to master with glee at Christmas. He just sat there confused.
As we walked to the car I could see Mum was quiet and upset. I slung my arm around her and she burst into tears. We just stood there, words would be meaningless at times like these.
When I got home we had Christmas dinner, minus Dad. Although we had my sister's fiancee, it wasn't the same. Dad was the head of the family and we were like the roast turkey (headless). Mum tried to enjoy herself but who could blame her for feeling sad. She couldn't bring herself to watch the Carosl on TV. It would only bring up too many sentimental memories and make her cry.
I went out to the yard and cut some branches off a tree. We always have branches that need cutting, but it was always Dad who did this kinda thing. Usually he and I would spend father-son time together doing yard work, but this time it was just me. I picked up his tools, the ones passed onto him by his father and repaired a bench that he had constructed. As I drilled and hammered in the garage it all seemed so surreal. Memories of Dad talking to me about the deep things of life in that garage came flooding back. It was like I was an observer watching him teaching his son in the way he should go. I wished I could return to those days. To have one last deep conversation with him and thank him and say good bye.
What does it mean to honour your father? Is it about obeying them? Is it about loving them unconditonally as they age as they have loved you as a child? How do you honour your father when all that remains of him are fading memories of the man he used to be?
As we sat around at Christmas my sister asked me another question. Would I walk her down the aisle?
My heart kinda skipped a beat. These were Dad's roles, his moments. Giving permission for marriage and giving away his daughter at her wedding. I can only imagine how many times he watched his daughters as they grew up and looked forward to the day he could walk them one last time. I felt like I was robbing him. But my sister and mother insisted. Dad wouldn't be able to cope with the wedding. It would get him too agitated and he wouldn't be able to come. With sadnes, after much deliberation, I said yes. I can honour my father by stepping into his shoes, fulfilling functions he cannot, and protecting and loving the women in my family.
This is for you Dad... I miss you heaps
The house showed signs of his absence. The usually immaculate lawn was unkempt (although generously cut by a family friend), the garage looked abandoned, even the dog was lonely without his master.
I went to see him in the nursing home. He was slow and shuffling. He looked calm, but not enjoying life. He asked me about work and whether I had a girlfriend. He told me about how he was going and all his medical problems and I reassured him the nurses would look after him. He told me about all the things he wanted to do when he got home, not realising he wouldn't be going home... ever.
I gave him his Christmas present and he stared at it in confusion. "How do I open it?" I showed him how to unwrap a Christmas present, one fo the most basic things in life that even infants manage to master with glee at Christmas. He just sat there confused.
As we walked to the car I could see Mum was quiet and upset. I slung my arm around her and she burst into tears. We just stood there, words would be meaningless at times like these.
When I got home we had Christmas dinner, minus Dad. Although we had my sister's fiancee, it wasn't the same. Dad was the head of the family and we were like the roast turkey (headless). Mum tried to enjoy herself but who could blame her for feeling sad. She couldn't bring herself to watch the Carosl on TV. It would only bring up too many sentimental memories and make her cry.
I went out to the yard and cut some branches off a tree. We always have branches that need cutting, but it was always Dad who did this kinda thing. Usually he and I would spend father-son time together doing yard work, but this time it was just me. I picked up his tools, the ones passed onto him by his father and repaired a bench that he had constructed. As I drilled and hammered in the garage it all seemed so surreal. Memories of Dad talking to me about the deep things of life in that garage came flooding back. It was like I was an observer watching him teaching his son in the way he should go. I wished I could return to those days. To have one last deep conversation with him and thank him and say good bye.
What does it mean to honour your father? Is it about obeying them? Is it about loving them unconditonally as they age as they have loved you as a child? How do you honour your father when all that remains of him are fading memories of the man he used to be?
As we sat around at Christmas my sister asked me another question. Would I walk her down the aisle?
My heart kinda skipped a beat. These were Dad's roles, his moments. Giving permission for marriage and giving away his daughter at her wedding. I can only imagine how many times he watched his daughters as they grew up and looked forward to the day he could walk them one last time. I felt like I was robbing him. But my sister and mother insisted. Dad wouldn't be able to cope with the wedding. It would get him too agitated and he wouldn't be able to come. With sadnes, after much deliberation, I said yes. I can honour my father by stepping into his shoes, fulfilling functions he cannot, and protecting and loving the women in my family.
This is for you Dad... I miss you heaps
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