Watching the Sun Set

Over 400 miles from home, three days in a car through chilly and wet spring weather, a visit to Mom’s grave, meetings with friends and family, and time spent with Dad, means that after a Maryland seafood dinner on the water with friends on Saturday evening, I needed to break away from it all.

I needed to be alone with my camera for just little while. I left the group quickly on foot – “I want to catch this sunset. I’ll be back!” I heard them say as I approached the water’s edge, “Be careful, Mary.”

Dad is as good as good he can be. In my mind, not very good. A man who gave so much of himself to so many people has been robbed of quality of life for twelve years. Each year that passes, another piece of real living is snatched away.

I noticed small changes.

His body is smaller, more palsied, stiff, and frail.

I saw signs of mini-strokes that cause his lopsided grin.

He smiled widely when he saw us, knowing darn well who we were but needed a little coaching on names. I giggled to see a sparkle in his blue eyes and we talked and reminisced about his life.

The world according to Dad –

“The nurses are nice and I get along with most everybody here. Some of them are fat and some of them are skinny and some of them are horrible ugly. A ha ha ha!”

“Nothing is new around here except the taxes are getting higher. A ha ha ha!”

He belly laughs. His voice is strong.

I think, how can an old man belly laugh when there’s no dignity left? How can he laugh when he relies on others to care for him completely, like a swaddled infant?



We switch the topic to politics – his former love.

And what about that Hillary Clinton, Dad (who admired Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan)? Of course, he doesn’t realize there’s a woman candidate for president, but his response was typical and true of him, “The nut will take your money and her husband’s a bum!” (insert belly laugh) Perhaps he knows more than we think and is really listening to the TV news?

He can carry a conversation, for sure, based on small bits of information stored from his past. His auto-answers are so familiar.

I fed him a pudding cup, and oh, how happy he was. He devours his meals and occasionally demands bean soup which makes the staff laugh, “Never on the menu here, Tony!”

My throat tightens when I see his smiling face fade and quickly turn away from us, turning grim, as if he’s contemplating his existence but just can’t process his feelings…there are no words he can express during those moments. We break the silence for him and he replies,

“Thank you.” “I love you.” “I really appreciate that.” “That feels better.”

Dad, I’ll bring your Fire Department pictures and your Engine 32 helmet next time! Would you like that?

“Will you? Thank you! I’d like that.”

When I left him on Saturday, I looked back into his room from the hallway to see him raise his only good limb – his right arm – to wave good-bye to me, smiling. I waved back, of course, but he didn’t hear me say “see ya later, Dad”. I lost my voice.

The sun is setting and it’s getting more difficult to see.

Life. It is what it is, I guess.

Bless your heart and God love ya, Dad. Like I do.