Dads and Their Boys... and Their Dads

Sometimes the quiet anonymity of the internet is surprisingly comforting. While, probably, no one will ever read this, I still get the "release" from having said it.

I've given these feelings their life and expression, as it were.

It's tough to explain. It's even more tough to understand.  Certainly mortality is an inevitability for all of us. And I'm sure all of us have contemplated if we would like to know the time of our departure... or not.

I'm thinking I would NOT like to know, but I can see how I might be persuaded otherwise.

I took my dad to the doctor to find out how his lab tests came back. The results were numbingly bad.

How do you sit and quietly listen to the doctor explain to you and your father that your dad has maybe two or three more years with you?

What are you supposed to say in the elevator on the way down to the van?

Or on the drive home?

How do you say, "I wish with all that I have that you didn't have to die, Dad!"?

Or do you have to?

My dad broke the uneasy silence on the ride home, "It's good to see the sun finally came out this weekend. You and the kids can have some fun outside today and we can have a burn pile... if you want."

"That sounds like fun! Let's stop and get the stuff for smores and some hot dogs."

We spend the rest of the ride talking about how I'm going to fix the broken truck with the brake leaks.

As we pull up the drive he points to the barn where we are going to be putting in the chicken coop, "You need to make sure you slope the ground enough so that the water doesn't pool up in the middle of the chickens roosting area."

"I'll make sure we get that done."

We are kicking that "can" down the road, I know... but I know that when the moment is right he will sit me down and tell me what he needs from me. Or maybe I will just know... I honestly have no idea.

I help my dad get his wheelchair out of the back of the van and watch him cruise around to the back of the house to inspect the work on the fence around the pool area and talk to the kids who are jumping on the trampoline.

I'm so honored to stand with my dad as he walks this final journey. I hope I can be strong for him when he needs me, but I worry that I may need his strength more as the times grow more rough, sounds selfish.. I know. I wish I could tell you the quiet greatness of my father. I wish you could hear his low and gravely voice as he grumbles out lullabies to his grandkids who nap on his chest when they come visit. (I inherited his grumble and growl) The way he calmly and quietly continues to lead the extending and growing family. He is a hero many times over.

I want to stand and fight this fight for my dad! I want to show him how strong his son has become and how I have become a man and how brave I am when standing against evil and bad men. But this adversary can't be fought for him. I can't walk this path FOR him.

I don't know what to do or say...

I feel like I should do or say something to him... but I think he knows. His hand on my shoulder as I helped him to the van told me he knew what I was thinking... I couldn't look at him...

I wish you didn't have to go, Dad.