The Bother

A few months ago, while visiting my dad on a one warm sunny afternoon, I found his cripple body, sitting in his recliner, staring out the bay window lost in his thoughts. I knew that look well. He was taking his favorite trip down memory lane and revisiting the days when his children frolicked in the giant oak trees across the street.

Peeking at him from behind the corner, tears began to mist my eyes. The reality of his life rang loud and clear – he was trapped in his body, in his house, in his mind, and he was all alone. It tore at my heart knowing how empty his days were. Rarely did he have any visitors, with the exception of me, and the caregivers did just that – cared for his physical needs, but not his emotional ones. There was never any conversation or discussion about the world outside, nor did they take an interest in what he was thinking or how he was feeling.

Kissing him on his forehead, I whispered in his ear, “Dad, I really want you to live with me. I don’t like seeing you here day after day all by yourself.”

Looking away from the window to his only daughter, he thought for a second and responded quietly, “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, dad. It will be perfect,” I encouraged. “I’ll build a ramp for your wheelchair and you can have any bedroom you want. The kids are all gone so there’s a ton of room. It’ll be fun!”

Without a thought or hesitation, he said once again, “I can’t do that.” And then to my horror, he added, “You’d bother me.”

What? I wanted to scream. I’d bother you?

Stepping back to regain my composure, I wondered how he could think this? I was always the good girl. The sweet child. His delicate rose among my three thorny brothers. Okay, I know I can be stubborn and bossy at times, but come on!

“Well, just know if this ever gets too much, you’re always welcome,” I said patting him on the shoulder ever so softly containing my shock.

Driving home later that day, I began to understand what my dad was truly saying. No one ever wants to be considered an inconvenience is another person’s life. His world had become nothing but 24 hour care and diapers. Terrified his presence would be a nuisance, he placed his decision not to come on me rather than the truth.

Would he be a bother? I wondered. Perhaps.

I knew if my father lived with me, my life would be completely altered. My freedom to come and go would vanish and all spontaneity squashed. The house would have to be modified for handicap ease and they’re be a strict schedule to adhere to – bath at 9:00 am, breakfast at 9:30, nap in his chair at 10:00, mass on the Catholic TV channel at 11:00, back to bed at 4:00, dinner, pills, brushing his teeth at 6:00, saying his rosary and bedtime for the night (along with several diaper changes in between). Maybe he was right. Things should be left the way they were.

But as the months passed, I was haunted with the knowledge that my sweet dad wouldn’t be here forever. The circle of life was slowly coming to end and I dreaded any regrets I might have if I stopped being a bother and just left him alone? There’d be too many precious missed opportunities if I didn’t grab them in the moment – in every moment.

So, I remained the pest: that gnat in his face constantly buzzing, the army of ants in his food, that fly in his ointment until he finally acquiesced. We’re now three weeks into our journey together as roommates, as emotional caregivers to each other, and as a father/daughter team who are opening up and sharing all their secrets. Our discussions are sweet as we traverse our way through the past and talk about our hopes for the future.

Is he a bother? No, he is a gift. Am I annoying? I hope so. I pray that with all my constant attention he truly knows how much I love him and how a piece of my life will never be the same once he’s gone. There will definitely be a large hole without him here for I have been touched beyond words by his grace, dignity, and love. Right up to the end, I plan to pester him with as much love that is inside me so he can take it with him when he makes that final journey home to be with my mother.