To everything there is a season Turn, turn, turn And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
‘Tis the season for another move for my father. That’s three moves in three years. It’s a lot for this 92-year-old boy to handle. It’s a lot for his 42-year-old daughter to handle. I meant, 55. Whatever. That’s not the point! The point is that this man is moving on up. We all arrive upon the curve within the circle of life where it becomes clear that we need a little help. It’s those who recognize they need extra support and transition to a fancy facility that can aid them, who are my heroes. And yes, my father is indeed my hero. Always has been, always will be. He moves through life with an air of pride, positivity and adaptability that, try as I may, I can never duplicate. I move through my life with an air of suspended gas and sarcasm. Not a great blend for making friends and handling life’s little hand grenades.
At any rate, Nancy and I packed him up and began moving his many, many, many expired “essentials” (Mercurochrome? Castor oil?) into his new, sassy apartment. As we were exiting his pad, two adorable women were toddling down the hallway, wheeling toward an exciting Wesley Adventure. I said: “My father will be moving in tomorrow! Make sure you welcome him.”
They both turned to my husband and said “Well! WELCOME, honey!” He exclaimed: “No, no, no. I’m her husband! Not her father.” They giggled and decided not to hear him. ” See you soon!” they trilled. He mumbled something about shaving off his beard. Like that’s going to make a difference.
I thought it might be a difficult adjustment period for Pops. I was unpacking his many pharmaceutical collectables yesterday and as I broke two antique beakers, I encouraged him to go for a walk so I could throw them away without his knowledge, and also, I was hoping he would meet the two nice women who have a crush on my husband. He reluctantly agreed to go for a little jaunt but assured me he would be back in 10 minutes. Long story short: I lost him for two hours. Now I know how he felt when I thought curfew meant not getting home until the stench of Knott’s Berry Wine wore off.
I was in a panic. He walked in and I yelled: “Where have you been, young man? I was worried sick!” He told me he traveled all over Wesleyville, up and down, to and fro. He saw new friends, old friends, nurses, therapists, a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker. He was exhausted. That was a big adventure for this geriatric explorer, and off he sauntered to take a nap and recover from his shenanigans. I watched him sleep in his new bedroom and he looked utterly content.
As I was leaving his building that night, I was joined in the elevator by another lovely, older woman. “Hello”, I greeted her. She said “Oh! I’m on my way to the singing group. Are you going to come sing with us tonight? We always welcome new members!”
I stopped dead. “Wait. What? You think I’m a resident?!!”
She sailed on down the hallway, walker flying faster than I travel on my broom. She called over her shoulder:“You’ll fit right in! Always looking for new members!”
Well. Karma. There it is.
For all the crap I’ve given both my father and my husband, I’ve just been completely and succinctly put in my place.
Nancy will shave his beard, I will get Botox, and my father will have the time of his life.
It’s a circle, but life is also a highway. Enjoy your ride. And, remember to turn, turn, turn.
