I went to see my father again this time with Rose. I was genuinely surprised when I walked in and he was sitting up, fully alert. His heart rose in a way that rolled past the fact that he didn’t know who either of us were.
I kissed him on the cheek and the side of his lips with deep affection. My lips felt the stubble on his face that so many times I felt on my own cheek when I would bury my entire self into him for comfort and love.
The myriad of emotions moving through me as I sat one side his right hand and Rose held his left hand was complex and mixed. One feeling that was not mixed was my deep gratitude for Rose as she put her whole heart into being there with me and my Dad, surely feeling her own pain too.
I played music for him while we watched a golf tournament together. I got particular pleasure out of my beloved girlfriend learning golf literally as we watched (referring to the “sand pit” instead of trap was beyond lovable).
The simple enjoyment of watching a long putt go in in that moment was meaningful. And every cheer from us I couldn’t help but think about his relentless cheerleading for me when I was a kid.
He bubbled to the surface with his unmitigated joy and enthusiasm about things obvious or non-existent. It felt like the turtles coming to the air letting out a big breath of air after swimming in the deep ocean for a while.
He called me Notre Dame because of my shirt which made me think maybe next time I'll wear a shirt with the name Tim on it. It's a way to make it easy and a hack out of some core desperation to be seen again.
He repeatedly looked me in the eye and said things to me that I’ve heard so many times. He told me how I was a superstar and that I had something special. It was as hard to hear this weekend as it was all those years he said it.
He sees the “it” in me and neither of us really know what that thing is. I still struggle to really hear it and am at times angry I have it.
Many times during our it I thought to myself “Dad, when you are ready to let go, I am ready”. I can’t tell you why I couldn’t say it, which makes me think maybe I’m not ready. It felt so selfish.
I did however, put into words what is true and easy for me to say. I told him: “You were the one who taught me how to say I love you”. I told him: “You taught me how to love”.
Those words just weren’t landing. It reminded me of how the raindrops would hit the windows in our station wagon as a kid without feeling. A full raindrop appeared, and slowly but surely blazed a path down the window only to disappear.
It’s really painful when he’s here and he can’t really comprehend what he gave me. It’s made even more pronounced as I grow emotionally and spiritually. And I know that the growth by definition makes it such that I can make space in my heart for that lack of comprehension there is still pain.
I closed my eyes and prayed a lot during our visit. I was aware of my girlfriend’s beautiful voice talking to my Dad about what was happening on the screen because he told her how lovely her voice sounded. She generously let it flow even noting how my hands felt like my Dad’s.
At one point the voices and the music fell away. And I went from presence to sleep. And for just a few minutes with my hand in his we both drifted off.
My eyes opened up to see him peacefully sleeping. Every memory of laying next to my father while both of us slept came rushing back. One of my Dad’s superpowers when I was a kid is being able to sleep at a moment’s notice to recharge and of course waking up and claiming he was listening the whole time.
I calmly and quietly waited for him to wake up which he did. When our visit ended I leaned in to kiss him again and he in his own way acknowledged my inner gifts.
At 2:30 am that night I woke my love up again and she listened with all she could muster to all of the feels. She knows that I need to go into the darkness of this and, understandably, it scares her sometimes. That darkness is deep.
I’m convinced the feelings come to me in the middle of the night because that’s where we meet. I meet my Dad in the confusing world of dreams which I think his is reality and I try to that I convince myself they aren’t a nightmare.
I’m left with the conflicting feelings that he seems physically well which means the story will continue rather than finding a nearer term end.
How can it be that I feel conflicted about that?
Not very easily and it’s my truth. I know that I’m doing what I can. I’m doing the “best” that I can because I’m willing to face this and work through it and be there.
It's so deeply challenging to be in a relationship that is both deeply meaningful and now so clearly one-sided.
I stay close to God because I know it’s my God’s plan rolling out in my life. The more I fight it the less I can live it. And it’s as real as it gets
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