Tweet
I am on the verge of losing my dad to lung disease. It may not happen today; it may not happen tomorrow or even this month, but it will happen soon.
I have been thinking of how disjointed the course of time is, sometimes passing in a blur, with only the most extraordinary images standing out; Yet, sometimes moving so slowly that every second becomes significant and etched in our memories. My relationship with dad exemplifies this.
I have a lump in my throat as I write.
Having this man for a dad is no small blessing and I will have something to hold onto when he is gone. I will have the good, the bad, the stormy and the calm. I will have extraordinary images that are etched in memory. I will also be left with many times that seem like a passing blur.
I saw my dad yesterday, Father’s day. He could not move about, so I crawled in bed with him. He laid his head on my shoulder and whispered, I’m glad you’re here, Kev. I rested my cheek on his forehead and heard the slight sound of his weakened voice. I said simply, I’m glad I’m here too, Dad.
I didn’t move for hours. I lay there holding dad, thinking of the extraordinary moments, and watching the clock. It was reverse roles from when I was a frightened child lying in bed and dad would comfort me by rubbing my back until I fell asleep. Yesterday it was he who would fall asleep in my arms.
I watched as the minute hand took one deliberate click forward. I listened to the rhythm of the clock. I watched the clock carefully, reassuring myself that the pace would hold steady, that there would be no upsurge. The crawling pace of the clock can be deceptive. It allows us to imagine that we have many days, many hours for the future to hold its distance.
Nothing in the world is permanent and it would be foolish to ask for the good things to last, yet more foolish not to take delight in them while we have them.
I am grateful for having had the pleasure of knowing my dad. I give thanks for whatever stocks of time that I am blessed to have with him, my wife, my son, and with all whom I love and with whom I wish to have more time.
In the upcoming days, months, and years I plan to store up every moment from sunrise to sunset. The clock has nothing on me.
I have been thinking of how disjointed the course of time is, sometimes passing in a blur, with only the most extraordinary images standing out; Yet, sometimes moving so slowly that every second becomes significant and etched in our memories. My relationship with dad exemplifies this.
I have a lump in my throat as I write.
Having this man for a dad is no small blessing and I will have something to hold onto when he is gone. I will have the good, the bad, the stormy and the calm. I will have extraordinary images that are etched in memory. I will also be left with many times that seem like a passing blur.
I saw my dad yesterday, Father’s day. He could not move about, so I crawled in bed with him. He laid his head on my shoulder and whispered, I’m glad you’re here, Kev. I rested my cheek on his forehead and heard the slight sound of his weakened voice. I said simply, I’m glad I’m here too, Dad.
I didn’t move for hours. I lay there holding dad, thinking of the extraordinary moments, and watching the clock. It was reverse roles from when I was a frightened child lying in bed and dad would comfort me by rubbing my back until I fell asleep. Yesterday it was he who would fall asleep in my arms.
I watched as the minute hand took one deliberate click forward. I listened to the rhythm of the clock. I watched the clock carefully, reassuring myself that the pace would hold steady, that there would be no upsurge. The crawling pace of the clock can be deceptive. It allows us to imagine that we have many days, many hours for the future to hold its distance.
Nothing in the world is permanent and it would be foolish to ask for the good things to last, yet more foolish not to take delight in them while we have them.
I am grateful for having had the pleasure of knowing my dad. I give thanks for whatever stocks of time that I am blessed to have with him, my wife, my son, and with all whom I love and with whom I wish to have more time.
In the upcoming days, months, and years I plan to store up every moment from sunrise to sunset. The clock has nothing on me.
Comment