Day 144 - Father's Day

Father's Day cake by Jim, The Photographer,
via Flickr.com

This is the first Father's Day without Dad. It is also the first Father's Day with James in our lives. That's the circle of life, I guess.

At church this morning, Pastor Andy said in his sermon that he had been at St. Andrews Lutheran Church long enough that he has used up all the great stories of his father. So he told us one about a parishioner in his first church. Lilian* was in her 70s when she told Pastor the story, so he thinks the story took place in the early 1920s.

Lilian grew up in a very strict household. Her mother preached against playing cards, dancing, and going to movies, fearing that her daughter being involved in such activities would lead her astray. But Lilian, being a typical teenager of any decade, had a streak of rebellion in her. Not wanting to lie to her mother, Lilian stretched the truth a bit, telling her mother she was going to a friend's house for the evening. It was just stretching the truth because Lilian did go to her friend's house. But then she and her friends went to the cinema.

It was Lilian's first trip to see a movie, so she was very excited. Once she and her friends got settled in their seats, Lilian was surprised by a tap on her shoulder, but even more surprised when she turned around and saw her father in the seat behind her. In an instant, Lilian figured out what had happened. Her father had seen her with her friends as they were buying their tickets, but instead of approaching her outside the cinema, he decided to make the lesson larger by allowing Lilian to spend her money on the ticket and refreshments. Lilian didn't have much money, so when her father finally demanded that she pick up her purse and come out of the cinema with him, the lesson would really hurt.

But that's not what her father said. Instead, he said "I won't tell if you won't tell." Lilian remained in her seat in the row with her friends while her father remained behind her. And Lilian realized after that day that her father would always have her back.

Pinocchio by turbulentflow, via Flickr.com

Lilian's story reminded me of the first time I went to a movie. Dad took me to see Walt Disney's Pinocchio. I must have been about four years old. I remember the experience so well because I was absolutely scared to death of the  big waves and the storm in the movie. Instead of seeing Pinocchio learning the lessons that he should stop telling lies and start being kind and obedient to his father who carved him, I remember wondering why Dad would take me to see a movie that was so frightening.

Swiss Family Robinson book by
kayray via Flickr.com

A few years later Dad took several of us to see The Swiss Family Robinson. That one also had a few frightening moments in it, like a scene where one of the boys was caught in a giant spider's web, but I was old enough not to let the the frightening scenes distract me from the rest of the story. After we got home from the movie, Dad teased us about the movie. He asked us if we thought it was a good story or a true story. We all said it was both. But Dad insisted it was either a good story that wasn't true or a true story that wasn't good. I think I realized he was right, but I really wanted it to be a good story that was true.

I asked Dad not long ago how he met Mom. I expected him to tell me about the moment he first saw her across a room because I thought everyone would remember that point in time when they saw their love for the first time. Instead, Dad said he couldn't remember. He said he had always known who she was. Both his family and hers used to go to watch movies that were projected against one of the buildings downtown in Hitterdal, a precursor of outdoor movie theaters like the Starlight and Moonlight in the Fargo-Moorhead area.

Dad used to take us to movies at an outdoor movie theater now and then, especially when the entry price was per car, not per person. I always enjoyed those nights, even though I heard Dad complain to Mom about what went on in the other cars. I didn't know what he was talking about. I always watched the movies. I never looked at what went on in the other cars.



*a name, not necessarily the right one

Day 132 - Eulogy for Dad

As the oldest child, I had Mom and Dad all to myself for three whole years. I have trouble separating memories of Mom from Dad during those years except for these few:

Dad took me to basketball games at MSTC and Concordia.
Dad took me fishing.
Dad took me to the Fargo-Moorhead Twins games.
Dad told me bedtime stories.
Dad read the comics to me - but not always with the words in the bubbles.
Dad held me up in the air on his hands.
Dad took me to see Pinocchio, my first movie.

So, on reflection, while Mom took care of me inside the house, Dad took me out.

Dad had a mischievous sense of humor that on reflection I can recall from my childhood. He gave us all silly nick-names. I can only remember two - Schnickelfritz and Gerald McBoing Boing. I remember the time we spent a week in a cabin at one of the lakes when he brought a garter snake into the cabin while Mom was on her hands and knees washing the floor - who washes the floor when they are on vacation? He told Mom he had brought in a snake and he put it on her back. She just laughed and said she wasn't going to fall for that trick. She was sure it was a rope, until it slid off her back and into the pail with water and soap that she was using to wash the floor.

While he didn't always know the best ways to show us, it was clear that Dad was proud of us and he wasn't pleased when we didn't get the respect we deserved. One year, my sixth grade class was putting on an operetta that involved two of my classmates and I singing the song "Three Little Girls From School Are We" from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. I was particularly excited to be one of the three because it meant that I could wear the purple silk kimono that Dad brought back from Japan from his Merchant Marines days. I volunteered to bring the kimono to school to show it to the teachers, but on the day, none of the teachers involved asked me about it. And I was too shy to push the issue. When Dad found out, he went straight to the school with the kimono and talked with the teachers about why they hadn't asked me. I don't remember what happened next. I just remember how pleased I was that Dad went to the school on my behalf.

A few years later, I wrote an essay in junior high about the importance of voting in favor of a school bond issue. My teacher showed the principal. The principal of the school sent it to The Fargo Forum, and the paper printed it. I only learned years later that Dad had cut out that column and carried it around in his wallet. Mom had to tell me that; Dad didn't want me to know he was bragging.

Dad was also willing to do nearly anything for us. A very small example from my childhood dealt with my dislike of green beans. I was willing to eat the beans, but not the shells. One day Mom wouldn't let me leave the table until I ate all of the beans - shells and all. She left me at the table. Dad came to tell me I could leave the table because he would hide the shells under Wayne's plate on the high chair. I don't think Dad thought that one through very well because when Mom found the shells under Wayne's plate, she came to me to tell me that hiding them wasn't good enough for her. But since she didn't make me eat them anyway, I guess Dad must have confessed that I was innocent. Green beans are now one of my favorite vegetables.

As I grew older, I was eager to get out of town, to become independent. As the oldest child, I had to fight the battle over the independence boundaries much longer than my siblings did. After my second year of college, for example, I wanted to go to New Jersey for the summer, as a volunteer in an inter-denominational summer program for elementary school-aged children. Because I was under 21, I needed my parents' permission. Dad wasn't ready to sign the paper, but Mom looked Dad in the eye and told him - stretching the truth just a bit - that I was over 18 and therefore I really didn't need his permission. With that clear, Dad signed the form, but I don't think he was pleased. A few years later, when I decided I wanted to teach English as a Second Language after college because I saw that as a way to get overseas, I don't think Dad was all that pleased about that choice either, although he must have felt a little bit of conflict since he had done his own international traveling and working when he was even younger than I was at that point. In the end, he and Mom came to visit me when I lived in Romania, in Germany, and in Barbados. And one of Dad's favorite mementos was his list of the countries he had traveled during his life.

Mom was the spokesperson for Dad. I can recall many conversations that began "your father isn't very happy about. . . " Dad never told us; Mom spoke for him. And there were many times when Mom told us something about Dad's health that came with the warning, "Dad didn't want me to tell you because he doesn't want you to worry."

When Mom died, Dad no longer had a translator. He had to tell us himself how he felt. He had to tell us his news himself. He had to tell us himself what he wanted or needed us to do. And in the course of those conversations, we all got to know him a little more.

I had always connected with Mom through letters or email, but that option didn't work for Dad. Dad had to make a phone call to connect. One day he called just to talk, but eventually he said he had something to tell me, that he had a date. It felt like a good friend sharing his news with me and that felt wonderful. That date was with Dolores and therefore the beginning of her becoming an important part of Dad's life, and ours. The two of them were so happy and as they each began to face health challenges, we worried what would happen when the first of them passed. We lost Dolores in February. Dad's short-term memory was very weak at that point, so her loss wasn't as devastating to him as we had feared. But her passing was a big loss to us.

Sandra, Amalia, and Dad

Dad had a much younger special friend, Amalia, from Romania. He and Mom met her at a Sons of Norway meeting in Fargo when she attended with her Norwegian language professor from Concordia. Dad told me that when he met her, he decided to be the friend for her he hoped I had found in Romania while I was there. Amalia graduated from Concordia and with a lot of help from Dad made her way to Seattle for an internship year. The following year, Dad called to ask me to help Amalia get settled in Virginia as she had received a full scholarship for a masters degree program at Georgetown University. Since he rarely asked for help, and in this case the request was even rarer because Mom was still alive, yet Dad made the phone call. I was happy to do what I could. In the first few months after Mom died, Dad came to visit us in Virginia, in order to attend Amalia's graduation. For the first time, he was more a guest than a dad. Dad the dad used to find things in the house that needed to be fixed and he'd get busy fixing them. But Dad the guest let us take him around town to see the sights. In addition to attending Amalia's graduation, Dad, Amalia and I attended a Sons of Norway meeting. Years later as we kids moved him from his apartment to the nursing home, we found documents indicating how much more help Dad gave Amalia than we had known. How would have learned this wonderful fact about our father if he still had Mom as his translator? So thank you, Mom, for giving us the last eight years with Dad so we could get to know the wonderful man you married.

And thank you Dad for all you did for us, for all you gave us, for the example you set for us, for being the gentleman you were.

Day 123 - More Decline

It has been less than two months since I was last in town to see Dad. While he has improved greatly since three weeks ago when he had his fifth stroke, the decline from my last visit is marked and obvious.

Bingo is one of the events that helps me see the changes. Wednesday is Bingo day where he lives, right after mid-day coffee.  I knew that Dad hadn't been staying in the dining hall much after having his coffee, so last week I was prepared for him wanting to leave the hall when Bingo got started. But he wasn't anxious, so I put a card in front of him to watch what he would do. Instead of leaving it on the table, he picked it up and held it in his slightly shaking hand as he looked it over when the numbers were called. He held it so close to his body that I couldn't watch what he was doing without standing up to look over his shoulder. I knew from having helped him at a noon meal earlier last week that his hand-eye coordination is much worse. As he tried to pick up food with his fork, he kept aiming for a spot on the table in front of his plate. So I didn't expect that he would be able to pull those red sliders down over the numbers this time. And there were no surprises.

After the first game, I picked up a card for myself. I didn't really care about winning a game; I just wanted to be doing something to keep from hanging over Dad's shoulder. I thought about passing my card to Dad if I ended up winning a game, but I wasn't sure that he would even realize what winning meant. So I decided I would just play, without announcing "Bingo." With a card in my hand, I could watch Dad's reactions without appearing to.

Dad looked over his card consistently, but I am not sure it was intentional. He found one number among those called and he tried to pull down the tab. But most often he seemed to be looking for something. When I asked, he told me he saw a Bingo card on the floor and he was trying to pick it up. Then he reached for the napkins on the table. I think he thought they were Bingo cards, too.

This week Dad didn't want to stay for Bingo at all, but we had a wonderful conversation. I told Dad how much I had to thank him for. I told him that when I was in fourth grade, I thought I was getting too expensive: I got glasses that year, I was in the middle of corrective dental extraction intended for me to avoid having to wear braces, and I started taking violin lessons. I thanked Dad for keeping me after all of that. He laughed and held out his arms to give me a hug.

Last Thursday I found that Dad wasn't in his room when I got there. I went to the dining room to look for him and learned that he had gone to church. One Thursday each month, Trinity Lutheran Church pastors hold a service at Eventide and volunteers make sure they get all the Trinity members out of their rooms for the service. The same man, Jerry, has been picking up Dad for those services since last fall. Thursday Dad and Jerry talked about fishing and baseball and Jerry said Dad told him about his new Ford.

Over the course of these two weeks, Dad told me that he had his appendix removed the day before (that was two days after my sister-in-law visited Dad for the first time after she had had her appendix and a portion of her large intestine removed), that he had just returned from a train trip to the East Coast with a story so filled with details that kept him laughing at himself throughout, and that he thought something sounded strange when I called him Dad. He talked often about his car again, but I noticed that the word car seems more generic for him. He pointed to one of his loungers and referred to it as a car. And then he pointed to his wheelchair and asked me if it was his rental car. When I leave each day, I tell him I'll be back the next day, and about every other day he tells me he isn't sure where he will be the next day. I give him a kiss and reassure him that I'll find him, wherever he is.

Day 51 - Bingo

image by Catherine V, via Flickr

We played Bingo today at Dad's nursing home. Wednesday is Bingo day every week, so it was no surprise. But since I am only in town occasionally, I always enjoy Bingo day because it is an objective way to measure Dad's involvement with the environment.
The last time I was in town was shortly after Dad's short-term memory took a trip without him. When we started playing Bingo that day, Dad just ignored his card. I kept my eye on both his and mine and pulled the red windows over the numbers as they were called. About half way through the first game, he started looking at his card, eventually pulling it over to be closer to him and shifting his glasses at an odd angle to get a better view of the numbers on the card. Then he started reaching forward to pull the red windows himself, but his hand-eye coordination wasn't quite under control. His hand was either too high or too far to the right to pull the window.  After a few tries, he pushed the card away and said it was too hard. So I took over for him until his interest was piqued again and he began paying closer attention and trying again.

The following week his vision interfered a little less. His fingers aimed a little high, but not over to the right. He didn't push the card away or stop paying attention. I only had to direct his eyes to one of the numbers infrequently.

It has been six weeks since that Wednesday. And Dad's memory hasn't gotten better. So that means each conversation will reoccur a minute or so later. I answer each of Dad's questions as if it were the first time I have heard it. So I was looking forward to Bingo even more today. It would be a break from the repeated questions.

I watched Dad, of course, but I also watched the others at the table. Alice was sitting next to Dad and she was paying very close attention to the numbers being called. She nearly always pulled a red window over a number, but rarely because it was the right number. Occasionally she would reverse the action and lift the window to expose the number again. It didn't matter to Alice whether she was playing according to the rules or even if she Bingo'ed. She was enjoying the time, she was engaged, and she was smiling.

Next to Alice was her daughter-in-law who visits Alice every day. She doesn't obsess about whether Alice is following the rules or paying attention. She just smiles at Alice and Alice smiles back and that is as good as it gets, and probably better than many other mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationships.

Next to Alice's daughter-in-law was another resident I'll call Mary. Mary had two Bingo cards, but she seemed to have difficulty hearing. She would look up at me and shake her head with a question in her eyes after about every other number. I repeated the number and she turned back to her cards to cover the number with the red window. And the final person at the table was another resident I'll call Betty. Betty had only one card, but she preferred to use it in reverse: instead of pulling the red windows over the numbers when called, she started out with all the windows covering the numbers and she uncovered them when a number was called. At least that's how she started out the game. About half way through, she got confused and started looking at the uncovered numbers instead of the covered ones.

Dad got Bingo once. But he didn't notice it so I raised his card for the Bingo caller to see. I'm a little competitive. I admit it. But as the games continued, I realized that the examples of Alice and her daughter-in-law were pretty significant, so I decided that continuing to play was more important than calling out Bingo to win. Luck seemed to be with me and my card on the next game. I think I had the first five numbers called, putting me in a good position to Bingo quickly. But I decided to keep playing my card regardless of the pattern of the red windows. It was the final game of the afternoon, the one where three Bingo winners get their dime prizes but the game continues as a blackout round. By this time, Dad was getting more involved. Now, when he saw five red windows in a row, he shouted "Bingo" not once but twice. I reminded him it was blackout Bingo now, but inside I celebrated a little bit because he was alert and attentive to something outside of himself.

I've never enjoyed playing Bingo more.