I usually call my mom when I am driving or walking. In other words, I always think about her when I am moving. She will pop into my mind and I immediately reach out. I am unusually close with my mom. We talk often and I think of her more than often. I feel very grateful for my family because through it all, we always have each other. No matter what. Unconditional love in its purest form.
My dad has an atypical, hybrid form of frontal lobe dementia and Alzheimer's. He is 82 years old.
I think of him sitting in the front row with my mom at literally every single performance.
I think of him in his suede jacket on the sidelines cheering loudly, but always positively, at every single field hockey game.
I think about him driving his 1965 White Mustang and parking it at the school where he worked and where I went to school.
I think about visiting my parents in Bethlehem with a newborn. It was my first night in town after my first solo road trip with my daughter. Dad very quietly came into my room and whispered for me to go to sleep while I was trying to get her down. He sat with her, rubbed her back and played her musical giraffe... for a very long time. The amount of times he wound that giraffe playing Imagine by John Lennon seemed countless.
I think about my extended family sitting in my grandparents' living room for hours on end. On the coffee table were always bowls of candy and snacks. Every once in awhile my dad's sweet tooth would kick in. Very quietly he would take a chocolate, unwrap it and pop it in his mouth. Then, he would reach over and grab another. And another. We would start to notice and glance at each other, grins forming, knowing what we were watching. Before you knew it, there was a pile of wrappers beside my dad.
I think about going through a rough time emotionally and saying that I didn't want them to end their visit to Massachusetts. I really didn't want them to leave - I couldn't do this without them. Dad hugged me and immediately planned for mom to stay. He drove the 5 hours home, worked the week and came back the following weekend. Mom took off the week of work so that I could have the extra support. Family.
I think about standing in my kitchen. Dad was well into his disease at this point. Again I was having a rough time emotionally and I went to hug him goodbye after their visit. Dad had this moment of clarity. It was an extended moment - he hugged me and said I love you in my ear. He really looked at me in my eyes. He saw me. Everyone in the room also recognized the moment. We all stopped and soaked it in. Then it was gone. But I am so grateful to have experienced that simple, clear moment.
I was on the phone last night with my mom. Dad is declining now. He hasn't recognized me for awhile. Sometimes it seems like he is there but can't vocalize his thoughts. Sometimes he isn't there at all-lost somewhere. Sometimes you can see his joy in the moment. Mom visited Dad yesterday and she showed him a picture of me on her phone. He took the phone, looked at the picture and brought the phone to his mouth to kiss it. I don't know what he was thinking or if he was thinking anything at all but knowing that happened made me feel something. I have been mourning my dad for years and yet have tried to appreciate who he is now. I miss him as he was but I miss him as he is now too. My dad.
So, take in today. Use all of your senses to see the beauty and the tragedy of life. See vivid colors, feel the emotions life hands you and soak it all in. All of it.
Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always.
