My father is an amazingly patient man. Growing up I watched my father work on a lot of projects such as home fix-its or car engine repair or fixing my bike chain. No matter how difficult or frustrating the task, my father never got angry. One time I said "If I were you, I'd be ticked off by now." He said "Why, it's an inanimate object? It doesn't have any feelings against me. If the parts aren't going together, then it's because I'm doing something wrong."
I still struggle achieving the same level of patience he seemed to master.
That same patience was evident when we visited my father. When he was able to speak we would always ask how he was doing. His response was always a simple "I'm okay" or "I'm fine." Fine? Okay? You're immobilized and shaking due to years of Parkinsons, moving your legs inflicts serious pain, you have bed sores, you can't swallow, your stomach is barely processing the food being pumped into it, you've got a serious infection, you have a sporadic fever, you can barely keep your eyes open and you struggle formulating even the simplest of words... and you're okay?
I marveled at his demeanor, at his approach to life. He never complained. Sure, growing up he'd rant about the world with catch phrases like "mark my words!" or yell at us about not cleaning our room, but when it came to his own struggles or his own suffering, he never complained. He simply accepted the challenge and replied, "I'm okay."
My mother and I closely monitored my father's breathing and the strength of his grip. Prior to the surge of energy, his grip was strong. Today it was weaker. His eyes were half-closed. He could only verbalize a few words.
With Christmas approaching I called my wife and asked her to bring the kids up to North Carolina to spend Christmas with my mother. I couldn't imagine her spending the holiday in that cabin alone. It was my brother who, during a previous visit, put up the Christmas tree and lights around the house. And, sure, my sister who lives nearby would gladly have my mother over for the Bauer Christmas Eve celebration instituted by my father and what has become family tradition.
But waking up on Christmas day alone? With her husband suffering a few miles down the road? Well, I couldn't accept that. So, my wife packed and hit the road. I couldn't wait for her to arrive.
The presence of my children added a pleasant youthfulness to the house. As soon as they arrived we all headed up to the nursing home to see my father. My kids were nervous, my wife cautious, but they knew they had to put aside their own feelings or fears and support my parents during this extremely difficult time.
My mother held my father's hand and my family all said "Hi." My Dad ackowledged their presence and we all prayed over him. Afterwards my children struggled with seeing their grandfather in such a devastating condition. There were many tears in the car before heading back to the cabin. Especially my own. Having been keeping up my strength in front of my mother all this time, when I was finally alone with my family I was able to drop my defenses and relied on my wife as I sobbed in her arms.
I still struggle achieving the same level of patience he seemed to master.
That same patience was evident when we visited my father. When he was able to speak we would always ask how he was doing. His response was always a simple "I'm okay" or "I'm fine." Fine? Okay? You're immobilized and shaking due to years of Parkinsons, moving your legs inflicts serious pain, you have bed sores, you can't swallow, your stomach is barely processing the food being pumped into it, you've got a serious infection, you have a sporadic fever, you can barely keep your eyes open and you struggle formulating even the simplest of words... and you're okay?
I marveled at his demeanor, at his approach to life. He never complained. Sure, growing up he'd rant about the world with catch phrases like "mark my words!" or yell at us about not cleaning our room, but when it came to his own struggles or his own suffering, he never complained. He simply accepted the challenge and replied, "I'm okay."
My mother and I closely monitored my father's breathing and the strength of his grip. Prior to the surge of energy, his grip was strong. Today it was weaker. His eyes were half-closed. He could only verbalize a few words.
With Christmas approaching I called my wife and asked her to bring the kids up to North Carolina to spend Christmas with my mother. I couldn't imagine her spending the holiday in that cabin alone. It was my brother who, during a previous visit, put up the Christmas tree and lights around the house. And, sure, my sister who lives nearby would gladly have my mother over for the Bauer Christmas Eve celebration instituted by my father and what has become family tradition.
But waking up on Christmas day alone? With her husband suffering a few miles down the road? Well, I couldn't accept that. So, my wife packed and hit the road. I couldn't wait for her to arrive.
The presence of my children added a pleasant youthfulness to the house. As soon as they arrived we all headed up to the nursing home to see my father. My kids were nervous, my wife cautious, but they knew they had to put aside their own feelings or fears and support my parents during this extremely difficult time.
My mother held my father's hand and my family all said "Hi." My Dad ackowledged their presence and we all prayed over him. Afterwards my children struggled with seeing their grandfather in such a devastating condition. There were many tears in the car before heading back to the cabin. Especially my own. Having been keeping up my strength in front of my mother all this time, when I was finally alone with my family I was able to drop my defenses and relied on my wife as I sobbed in her arms.
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