Leaving Kansas
February 22nd, 2012 at 16:32On an airplane leaving Wichita after visiting my sister and aging father, I thought about how disconnected we are from our actual lives. As our plane roared into the sky, everyone on that flight fell into a comfortable charade. A few conversed with whoever the clever gods of Frontier threw them next to. Others entered the world of their preferred book or electronic device, which quickly became their real life. Some dozed through a dream for an hour or two. Almost no one looked out the window or seemed aware of their actual life. We all successfully ignored our status as fragile living specks flying hundreds of miles per hour above the clouds. It’s probably just as well. Most of us don’t have enough confidence in thrust and lift (and physics in general) to happily dwell on abstract concepts while they suspend us a few miles above anything we understand.
My father is 88 and not healthy. He forgets things quickly and doesn’t hear very well. He can still crack a joke, if you can tease him into the mood. He walks slowly with a cane, but he’s lost interest in nearly everything outside himself. He stirs to anger when someone dares discard a partial chili relleno he brought home in a box from a restaurant days ago and left on a table. That’s the extent of his passion. He’s not interested in politics, or TV, or music, or other people, or solving problems. He didn’t ask about what I was doing, he didn’t ask about his grandchildren. Most of his best qualities have eroded away leaving a pillar of stubbornness and paranoia, adorned only by the intermittent joke.
He said one thing that didn’t relate merely to his own circumstances. He said that, as we get near the end, things seem more significant. That surprised me, and I just nodded. He understands that his own thought processes are a little foggy. He said if I thought of any suggestions for what he should do, to let him know. I told him to try to get some exercise every day, and maybe reach out to some of the other folks living there as well.
I did not mention that he was on a cosmic airplane flying through his life. I did not suggest that he look out the window.
February 23rd, 2012 at 8:50 am
That was lovely. Going to look out my window now ….
April 16th, 2012 at 6:44 pm
Kenn,
It has been a long time since I wrote. I follow your facebook posts and each time think, “hey, I need to send him a message.” All is good here. I’ve had an unbelievably great student teacher. My sons are well and making progress through their endeavors. I am spending way more time with Janice, and none at all on a dissertation.
I followed a link on Google+ that brought me to this blog entry and metaphorically took a walk through my dad’s last decade. He would insist that I turn the car right when a left would bring us to our goal. He was so certain (but wrong). I’m intrepid to a fault (I’m a huge O’Henry fan), and we took some diversions, but they were really just wrong turns and didn’t yield any romantic adventures. He would eat spicy food and wipe the profusion of sweat off of his face with the restaurant tablecloth. We would dash through a crowded restaurant to the toilet, find the only urinal occupied, and he would wash his hands – so the other fellow didn’t feel rushed. When the urinal was free, he didn’t need it. “But Dad, you said you had to go right away.” “I already went.” No, he didn’t. I’d check. “No Dad, you didn’t go.” Then the inescapable logic – “If I didn’t go, then why have I already washed my hands?” He wouldn’t mention an urge again for hours.
What I am surprised about now are the tears. He would cry when I would appear (even if expected), and give one of his great bear hugs. I am way more controlled than he was. My kids don’t see me cry (through enormous self-control), and rarely am I uninhibited enough for them to see how my heart is bursting with pride when I watch them. But, despite being a faker, I know well – now – how my father felt.
I started with the idea of asking you if you’re conversant in Erikson’s Life Stages Theory, namely the last stage: “integrity versus despair”. If not, it is widely available, or I can provide a synopsis upon request. I think you’d find it consoling. My class likes this essay (me too or they wouldn’t have seen it, of course). http://thisibelieve.org/essay/13122/ It is a strategy for preparing for our turn in our dad’s shoes. It is a test that I think you’ll agree that you ace. I’ll bet your dad did in his time too.
Larry
April 18th, 2012 at 4:51 pm
Larry,
Always nice to hear from you, glad things are going well. I hope my relationship with my three sons is comparable to what you had with your father, and what you have with your kids. My relationship with my own father has never been like that, but that’s a long story and probably not for a public forum. There were no bear hugs or tears. The seasons change, the leaves fall. I’m not unhappy, I’m just in a phase of my life where I spend a lot of time raking someone else’s leaves, sometimes at the expense of my own garden.
The essay was good, thanks for the link. Once I was in a hospital and considering my mortality, the end of which seemed on my near-term to do list. A friend asked if I was frightened. I said no, just sad. If the morning did not arrive, I’d miss my family and friends, I’d miss music and sunshine and all that stuff that comes from being alive. I think I still feel that way. I’ll probably regret not traveling more, not spending more time with my own sons, and not writing more songs and books. And geez, if we’re gonna die anyway, there are some snacks it was silly to skip.