The Nod – Daddy's Home

“How is your dinner?” I asked my dad, as I spooned another forkful into his mouth. Chewing madly to get ready for the next bite, he simply nodded his head up and down.

Since my daddy moved in with me, there seems to be less and less he can do for himself. Bodily functions and clean-ups are left in the hands of the one woman who loves him most – his only daughter. His eyes have become so weak that he can no longer see his food to feed himself or to change the channels on the TV. And reading, once his biggest passion, is non-existent. Walking ended years ago and in order to hear, all volume, both in human voice and electronic pitch, is at its highest level.

Sitting by his side, carefully giving him just the right amount of food so he wouldn’t choke, I noticed his “nods” became more pronounced. He nodded for more food, nodded to let me know it tasted good, nodded when it was time to stop. It’s in these precious moments that I’m swiftly carried back in time to my childhood when the nod was his main source of communicating.

In my youth, my mother did all the talking. She was the storyteller, task master, disciplinarian, and a demonstrative creature that let us know every second of every day we were loved, both by her actions and her words. My dad was the strong, silent type.

There was never any question that he loved us, but he never became all ooey-gooey like my mom. A gentle kiss good night and the simple phrase, “I love you,” was the extent of the verbal communication, but that simple movement of his head said it all for me.

The dinner table nod said, “Great, you ate all your dinner.” The report card nod sang loud and clear, “Good job, honey!” The athletic nod, when I tagged player after player at home base, screamed louder than any other parent, “That’s my girl.” And, the tearful nod as I placed another new grandchild in his arms whispered, “My legacy will live on. Thank you, sweetie.”

Today, my daddy’s more vocal with his emotions. At night, in between his dinner nods, we talk about his life. What he is grateful for, what he is fearful of. He tells me over and over that he loves and adores me, but when emotions rise and the tears begin to bubble; he reverts back to his old ways and slowly lowers and lifts his head. This gentle language between a father and daughter needs no words.

"I love you too, dad."