When Mom asked if I would stay with Dad while she went to Boston with my niece, I was a little apprehensive. At the age of 90, my Dad has slowed down considerably, and often has trouble sleeping through the night, so I wasn’t sure I could handle it safely. So great was my concern that I enlisted the help of my brother to spend the two nights, figuring between the two of us, we could monitor Dad and keep things running until Mom returned. And so it was early on a Monday morning, before my telecommuting work day began, I arrived in Amsterdam and saw Mom and Emi off, then settled into Dad care, which would turn out to be better than anyone, especially myself, had imagined.
For once, the weather cooperated – and the three days we spent together found summer at a comfortable high – sunny but not overbearingly hot or humid. The gardens were in bloom – hydrangeas and lilies and coreopsis and butterfly bushes. Bushels of tomatoes spilled fruit over their buckets while pots of impatiens and geraniums lit up every corner of the patio.
Dad was in good spirits, and sharper than he’d been in recent months. I’d made a big batch of pancit for our stay, and plated some up for our first lunch together. Together with some apple juice, he ate pretty well, and I relaxed into the day. When work was done, I began the power-washing of their pool deck, which hadn’t seen such a cleaning in three decades. Noah arrived then, and I showed him how to do it. He did a small corner and called it a day.
At regular intervals, I’d set Dad up with his exercise machine – a foot pedal thing that allows him to pedal as if on a stationary bike, but from the comfy seat of his couch. The older we get, the more important it is to stay in motion, to keep the exercise up, and to remain as mobile and flexible as possible. Dad taught me that as a young child, when I’d tumble into their bed early in the morning – he’d go through a set of leg exercises while still in bed to limber his body up for the day ahead. Such stretches seemed silly and rudimentary at the time, but they’ve led to 90 years of walking, so I hope he remembers to continue.
We had some adobo that Mom had left for dinner, and I made sure Dad got this pills for the evening before setting up his outfit for the next day. A man of ritual and tradition, and a Virgo like myself, he does best when there is structure and organization to the day. I did my best to make sure his habits were in place with the list of instructions from Mom.
That first night, we kept him up past 8 PM, which is late for him, and I’d hoped it would allow him to sleep through the night. We cajoled him into watching some of the Olympics, then he headed up to bed. An hour or so later, I went upstairs to my childhood bedroom and settled uneasily into the bottom of a bunk bed that seemed to be missing a slat or two, where I spent a restless night worried and waking to the slightest noise. It turned out to be worry for naught. Dad slept through until about 6:30 AM, when he opened the door to check on me and I said I’d be down to get breakfast in a minute.
The next day passed in similar fashion, and when 4 PM arrived I shut down the work computer, finished the power washing of the pool deck, and took a dip in the pool with Noah. (I promised if he did a little more power-washing I would join him.) I gave Dad his dinner, and set him up with his evening pills, and he repeated his regular question and confirmation of where Mom was and when she was returning. If the worst that happened was some repetition and confusion, I could consider it a success. That these few days offered some precious quality time with my father was a bonus that I didn’t expect, or understand how much I needed.
Being under the same roof with my Dad, my brother, and my nephew was something that hadn’t happened in years, and it felt as wonderful and strange as it did happy and right.
