On Losing My Father

Last known photo of Arnold Zeiler

“This is the longest we have ever been apart…17 months.”  These were the words my father said to me when I first walked into his apartment on January 29^th.  I had planned to visit him last March when the pandemic broke out.  “Wayne, as much I want to see you, please do not come down, it is not safe.”  These words were repeated throughout the year.  While I did not want to catch COVID-19, I certainly did not want to be the one to potentially bring the disease upon my Dad. With the use of Zoom, we still managed to “visit” and share some semblance of in-house celebrations together.  I knew the words were not meant to make me feel guilty but a statement of fact and a sense of sadness we both felt.

Prior to this point, we had gotten calls from Alice, my Dad’s companion for these past 20 years, saying that she needed some help.  A number of years ago, our father had a series of back surgeries followed by a series of strokes.  This led to years watching as he “progressed” from walking on two feet, to using a cane, to relying on a walker, to barely leaving his house.  Regardless of the underlying conditions, we were all watching as his body began to slowly deteriorate.  I know that my family is not alone in watching a loved one lose their independence.   I have also been well aware that I had reached the age where I could have expected to have to help out with an aging parent.  Realizing and facing the reality of all this, however, are two different things. 

It became clear to my brothers and I that the time had come to determine the options to present to my father.  With decreased abilities and an increased potential for falling, we had all reached a junction where additional help would be needed.  We became the first line of defense, taking turns staying overnight.  I can honestly say that any sound heard throughout the night did cause me to think the worst.  24 / 7 care was needed within a short time as standing and moving with a walker progressed towards needing help to stand progressing towards using a wheel chair.

It is not easy to see someone who you remember standing tall, helping out when needed, provide guidance and giving support become the one who is now dependent on the help of others for the activities we normally take for granted.  Over the following 13 weeks, we watched the decline with the ability to stop the trajectory that his body was taking.  As sad as the situation was, we did receive an unusual gift.  We had all that time to reminisce together, share stories, laugh and cry together.  The 17 months my Dad mentioned when I walked into his place in Florida will pale compared to the amount of time from when he “left” until we get to be together again.  I will miss my father but I am thankful for the time we had together.

Period of Transition

Do we know when it is time to say goodbye?  On the other hand, do we know when it is time to say hello?  Our lives are filled with points of transition, whether or not we are ready for them or aware that they are happening.  Worse off, there are many times that we turn a blind eye to transitions, hoping to delay the inevitable and keeping things the same.  This is true in our work lives, our volunteer activities and most importantly, our home lives.  Sometimes, we have control of when a transition will take place and other times, we do not.

Many years ago, I was in Barbados for work.  Each morning, I was picked up by the same driver who drove me to the office that I was working out of.  Every morning, he greeted me with the daily weather report which always ended the same way.  What if every day was always like the day before?  I do not mean like the COVID-lockdown-every-day-seems-like-Groundhog-Day, but if we did the same exact routine each and every day.  We used to joke when we were younger that it was funny how cartoon characters never aged.  Think of the decades that Charlie Brown tried to kick the football Lucy held, knowing each time that she would pull it away.

Work, especially over the past year, has seen many people transition in and out, unfortunately aided by the pandemic.  Before that, how many of us had held on to jobs because we were comfortable? Many years ago, I worked for a consulting company when the entire marketplace (and their business) was contracting.  I sat there watching as people were being let go because there were no new assignments on the horizon.  I should have seen it coming, but I was not prepared when it was my turn to be laid off.  The transition occurred even though I was not ready for it.  Lesson learned – be prepared for anything and keep your head in the game, your eyes wide open and pay attention to what you are hearing.  Job/Role transitions do not always have to be a surprise. 

My life recently went through a transition, one that was impacted by another’s transition – the passing of my father.  Having been sick for some time, recognizing that he was physically failing, my Dad was prepared and ready for the upcoming transition from life.  When the moment came, he was not surprised.  Though saddened by the event, our family was also ready and prepared.  One transition can lead to another.  With eyes wide open and aware, transitions were made.  Some transitions leave us with an empty feeling, of a loss.  Other transitions lead us towards a sense of hope and opportunity.  How we face these are uniquely our own.  The key is to be aware of them and remember, this too is part of life.

My Grandfather’s Clock

 My Grandfather had a clock that used to sit on a set of draws in his dining room.  Having grown up in a house with electric clocks, I was amazed that this clock, old in style, had no plug to make it work.  Then one day, I remember Grandpa opening the top drawer, pulling out a key and asking him what that was for.  As he placed the key into a hole in the face of the clock, he explained that the old clock was run on a spring.  He continued to explain that the key needed to be inserted, as he was doing, so that he could wind up the clock (tighten the spring) so that the clock could continue to run.  The key was turned a number of times until the mainspring was tightened and the key removed from the clock.  “If I do not do this, the clock will run down, getting slower until it finally stops,” he said as he put the key safely back into the drawer.

The clock comes to mind when I speak of how my father is doing.  I am at the point in life that when I look at my father, I readily notice that he is getting older, dealing with health issues and needing more care every day.  While it is true that no child wants to see their parents aging, struggling with daily routines, nor, fighting to get through each day, it is a part of the circle of life.  I know that I am at an age where I am not alone, as friends have been going through these life cycle changes in similar manners currently or over the past years.  It is not easy to watch the ones that took care of you, made the decisions that shaped your life and help you when needed, to become the ones that now look to you to help take care of them, make the decisions that impact that their lives and help them when needed.  This can be at times awkward and unnerving as it does not seem “natural” to become the parent figure.

The truth is that a time comes where we need to protect our parents and make them feel safe.  Fortunately, our children are old enough to tend to themselves.  That also means they are old enough to see and understand the situation which makes it hard for them as well (in a different way).  As children, they still have the ability to learn; as adults, they have the ability to see how we treat our parents and will hopefully apply the lessons gathered when we look towards them for assistance (hopefully) many years into the future.  For us, this is a clear sign of our mortality, a part of life that greets us whether we are ready or not, prepared for it or oblivious of the waiting cloaked figure with the sickle standing off in the shadows.

I sadly watch as the clock starts to slow down, wending its way towards its inevitable path.  While we know how this story will end, that does not provide comfort today.  I feel like the young child I once was, standing next to my Grandfather, unable to take the key and wind the clock…all I can do is watch.  There is no way to tell how long it will take, but I will take comfort in hearing that clock tick while it still can.