On Saturday I visited my father again and this time I brought my 18 year old daughter with me. I invested more energy than I care to admit in worrying about how it “might” go before we arrived.
Frequently last week I had to tell myself, some version of “It’s Thursday, 8:30 am, I’m in a coffee shop, in line in San Francisco, that’s what’s happening RIGHT now, Saturday isn’t here.” It helped me bring me back to the now.
Enough now’s passed and the time arrived.
When we arrived he was in a familiar seated position mostly curved over with his head looking down and eyes occasionally opening. I sat in the recliner next to him, Zoe was next to me.
I held my father’s right hand which was curled up, the fingers not quite firing correctly. His left hand occasionally reaching out to aimlessly land here and there.
I’ve written so many of these things before that it’s emotionally draining. So I’m mainly going to write about one part of the visit that I’ll never forget.
We had been “watching” golf. More accurately we sat in silence and I prayed while trying to hear your prayers that I asked for.
Finally, I muted the golf and started playing music. I played Harry Chapin and John Denver, two artists that were meaningful parts of our past…the “better days” of Taxi or Rocky Mountain High.
Silence, then a few bars of hauntingly familiar piano music. The beginning of the song Bridge Over Troubled Waters.
“When you’re weary, feeling small…”
I had breathed VERY deep until that point and was able to hold the emotional space. I know this was not just hard for me it was challenging for her.
And when those words came out, the tears started.
You see when I was in my darkest moments, I used to talk about this song with my father. He told me that he wanted to be my bridge over troubled waters. And he would extend himself, at his expense ultimately, to do that for me and my other brothers.
I knew that and am still working through some of the guilt that I used that to my advantage.
And as the last “I will lay me down” from the first verse came out, I recovered a bit form the first few tears and I kept holding his hand, curled and rough from years of being a warrior.
Then came:
“When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you”
The next, more significant wave of tears came. I was getting unsteady.
And in that moment, with my eyes closed, tears leaking, I felt another hand in my free, right hand.
This hand was the soft, confident, caring hand of my 18 year old daughter. Not a word was spoken.
This was the same hand that instinctively and perfectly reached for me when she was younger whenever we walked down the street. She eagerly reached for my hand and my heart every time we walked together.
And no matter what I was going through I felt her desire for my comfort, attention, security and love. Those feelings would pierce through whatever I was going through.
And yet for most of her teenage years, hand holding was off limits.
Totally understandable.
Yet in that moment her hand reached out to mine. I felt her desire to connect, to be there in that moment, not just for me, for it. She had feelings like I did.
She knew this was likely and she STILL came home from school to come down with me to see him.
And I sat there with my dad’s hand in my left, my daughter’s hand in my right.
If you know the song you can almost immediately access the feeling when the next words are sung:
“Sail on silver girl…”
The crescendo of the song is unmistakable. It’s upon you, it’s expansive and so was the power of this experience I was having.
I’ve never felt closer to God in my life and yet I still felt so confused. I didn’t know how to handle it so I just breathed deep, let the tears fall and the music play. Is this really happening?
If you know the song, you know the tidal wave of strings, keys, drums and voices of that magnificent song.
“Oh if you need a friend, I’m sailing right behind. Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters, I will lay me down”
A series of moments and memories with my father arose.
A series of mistakes and successes raising my daughter arose.
It was all there with to this magnificent soundtrack of this experience in my life.
And just like that, the crescendo ends.
I looked at my daughter and said, quite plainly with salt crusty cheeks from the dried tears “I love you and it’s time to go”.
I know that I didn’t end it gracefully. For those of you close to me, it’s one of my many shortcomings. I don’t bring things to a gentle soft close. It’s often quite abrupt.
I stood up and whispered directly into my father’s ear full of purpose:
“Dad whenever you want to let go we are ready. We love you and God’s light and love are waiting. God’s arms are open wide, ready to embrace you.”
I pulled back and we said goodbye to my Dad.
We walked out of the house and I stopped in front. I turned my magnificent daughter to me and hugged her completely. I had regained most of my composure and told her I loved her and was proud of her.
We walked a few feet more and she asked, confidently and sweetly as she looked at her phone:
“Dad, what was the name of that song?”
For those of us that have teenagers, most of the time kids are getting songs from Glee or TikTok or the Masked Singer, etc.
My daughter was going to have the bookmark of this experience as her first memory of this song.
I told her the name of the song and pretty awkwardly followed it with:
“Grandpa used to tell me that he was my bridge when I struggled. And I want you to know that I’ll be there for you. And what I’ve ended up learning is that my bridge is God.”
At least I think that’s what I said. It’s entirely possible I said something quite different.
I guess it’s doesn’t matter.
I do know that whatever happened that day was moving. And I’m sure there’s more to be talked about. I’m ready when my daughter is.
I realized that day that she’ll be ready for it and a whole lot more. I couldn’t have been prouder. I only wish I could talk to my Dad about it.