Dear Dad;
Sunday would have been your 93rd birthday; if you were still alive that is. Just so you know, I didn’t visit your grave this year, and don’t expect me to for the next for that matters. It is not out of disrespect; I haven’t been doing all that well with reminders that my day will come. You were gone before I got word that I would be joining a club. It is not much of an honor, really. In fact, it sucks. Sorry for the crass language but it’s the only word that I could think of that fits. What’s it like? I haven’t had to answer that question in a while.
At first, I could hide it from others, living in denial —you would be proud. But over time, that has changed. Now it’s obvious to most that I have a condition that sets me apart. I walk differently and my movements are rigid compared to most. My speech patterns are less fluid and more labored. I use a lot of props that help me get through the day. I lean against walls and sit in chairs — whatever it takes not to appear like I am wobbling. But I don’t think that is what you are asking, is it?
I don’t feel like I am a provider anymore, or won’t be for much longer. I’ve violated your cardinal rule; Work hard. I am working as hard as I can but I don’t think that it’s going to cut it much longer. I need to slow down but don’t know how. I’m like you, I never learned that lesson. Maybe you can talk to someone who can grant me a waiver— a release so I can leave work on time.
Lisa is doing well, but she looks at me much differently than she has in the past. Most mornings she is fighting back the tears as I struggle to stay vertical. When there are no tears, there is still a fear that won’t let up. For a long time, I was able to reassure her that everything was fine. That line wore thin. My girls don’t see me when I am at my worst, and I fear that what my son sees is all he will ever know. He doesn’t remember me healthy. Anyway, he spends very little time at home these days. Like father, like son. Right, dad?
My good days aren’t quite as good and my bad days are getting a little worse. What was once easy is getting a little harder each day. I don’t climb ladders much anymore. I shouldn’t walk on the ice but I still do.
The best way to explain it it’s like watching a part of you die a little every day.
No, I didn’t quit fighting, I still do because I must. I keep writing because I think I have a message that others need to hear.
I still have hope because you taught us that there are times when life will be hard and when it is, you know it’s time to sharpen your mower blades or shovel, keep your head down and get back to work.
Thanks for the lessons, Dad. I guess I was listening. Who would have thought? Maybe my kids are listening, too.
Ivy says Hi. Please don’t bring up Whitney. Ivy gets jealous. She thinks that she is the best dog in the whole world, and she just might be!
Al and his faithful, and mathematically astute sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
You’re right Ivy, he would be 651 in dog years. That is a lot of candles.