….losing a parent is something like driving through a
plate-glass window. You didn’t know it was there until it shattered, and then
for years to come you’re picking up the pieces—down to the last glassy
splinter. – Saul Bellow
 |
| With Dad downtown in the 1980s |
I miss my dad. I was thinking about him
this week. It was exactly one year ago that I moved him from Florida to
Chicago. He was no longer the
independent man I had grown up with and he was coming home to Chicago for the
last time. After suffering a stroke in April, he went through rehab and we got
him back to his Longboat Key condo with round-the-clock care. Despite being
constantly watched, he managed to fall over the 2016 Labor Day weekend, break
his hip and sustain a concussion and head gash. That was it. He needed to be
closer to my sister and I, and he needed more help than he could get at home.
So in October 2016, he took the last
plane ride of his life. He was in first class with Michael, a caregiver, while
I rode in coach. He loved being in first class and being pampered. He was
child-like and eager for the trip. I drilled into him where he was going and
what was happening, but it didn’t stick. I really don’t know where he thought
he was going but he was happy to be out of the hospital. I forgot to order him
a special meal on the flight. He was not supposed to eat solid food, but when I
went up to check on him, Michael had cut up the food into teeny pieces and Dad
was relishing it. It was some of the last solid food he ate. It was a big job
to get him into and out of the plane, but with Michael’s help and a wheelchair,
we struggled through it.
This past weekend, I recalled in
particular the medic van ride to the skilled nursing facility. Dad was still in
his wheelchair, strapped in and looking out the front window. The weather was
warm and sunny that day, just like it was one year to the day later. I often wonder if Dad thought he was coming
to my house, or did he think he was going to the house he and my mom used to
own in Elmhurst? During his last months in Florida, when I asked him where home
was, that is where he thought he lived.
He made it two more months, until
December, before he gave up. We knew from his documents and conversations, that
he never wanted to live if he could not do certain tasks on his own. He essentially
checked himself out of life on his own terms. That does not mean that I don’t miss him, miss our
weekly phone calls and regular visits, and the sage advice he gave before he suffered
his stroke. Every so often, like many of you who have lost loved ones, I want
to pick up the phone and ask him a question: “Dad, do you remember when we went
to California for the first time?” “Dad, what was Chicago like during the
Depression?” …. The list goes on. The questions will remain unanswered.
The glass of life is shattered and I will be picking up the last splinters for
all my days to come.
