Sunday was my dad's 79th birthday. We went down to visit (4 hour trip south) and took lunch and a cake, of course. It was german chocolate, the kind my mom always made...I didn't make it, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Sunday was my latest reminder that my dad isn't who he used to be. For a while, he has been losing his hearing and refusing to get it checked or have hearing aids. He can't hear my voice on the phone at all. I quit trying last Father's Day, when I called to wish him a happy day and I couldn't get him to understand who I was. He has also been forgetting things, repeating himself, losing things and he didn't plant his garden this year...only a few tomatoes. We had been torn between his hearing being his problem and his memory being his problem. Which was the problem? How can you have that kind of serious discussion with your first teacher, your mentor, your first true love when he can't really hear you?
Sunday drained me. I have been so tired since Sunday. Really just want to lay in bed tired...and today we didn't even go out to La Ti Da to work on the house...maybe later this evening...maybe. My mind can't rest. My brother, who lives near dad, has been doing all the work and he is tired, too. He check on dad all the time, takes him food, mows the grass with him, etc and dad appreciates that...tells you over and over what a big help he is, but brother is tired...drained, I'm sure in a way I can't even really imagine. I haven't called him often enough to try to relieve the burden in some way. He gave me a few things to help him out from here and I am doing them.
Sunday was the day that I was reminded that I can't fix everything. That is hard. I am a fixer.
I am embarassed to say that I all too often try to fix whatever the problem is before I ever turn to God in prayer. Why isn't God my first line of defense instead of my last resort?
My brothers and I watched our mom die of cancer, but she - the wholeness of herself - didn't leave us until the very end, only her body was failing her. Her heart and mind never did. This is so different.
As we got in the car to leave, after hugs all around, Dad stood outside the car window and said, "I'm not crazy."
Yes. I'm in a tiredness, but one of Dad's most enduring lessons is to get up and do what needs done...
Now, if I only knew what that was.
Praying...listening...trying to make my Dad proud.
Thanks for listening.