Today is my day to visit dad. He resides at an assisted care facility called Mountain Ridge Assisted Living in Ogden, Utah. His room is in the dementia unit, for his mind and body have been so altered by Parkinson's Disease that his reality combines what really is with what once was and even things that never were. He is thin and cannot walk, so he lies there in his bed waiting.... for us to come be with him, feed him and kiss him? ...for mom to come? ...for his Father in Heaven to take him home? ...for nothing that he knows of.
He does not know me either. I sit him up and attempt to carefully spoon small bites of bread and milk into his mouth because that is his favorite. His lips are pursed and he refuses more than one bite. He whispers "water" and because he has forgotten how to suck on a straw, I put the straw into the water, cover the end with my thumb and release the water into his mouth. He chokes and coughs. His right hand slaps his leg over and over again with a force uncanny for one who is too feeble to walk. I reach out for his hand and he holds on tight. Maybe he knows who I am. "Daddy?" I ask. He looks over at me with emptiness in his eyes. He then looks away but my hand is still gripped tightly in his. He lays back his head and closes his eyes. I lower the head of his bed and the reality of the moment hits me. I know he cannot survive much longer without eating or drinking. A "do not resuscitate" order is in place. I am going out of town in two days and will be gone for a week. He will not last a week.
I hold his hand and sit as close as I can while he sleeps. I look out the window toward the snow-capped mountains and start remembering. I am his Shauna-the-Rae. His doodle-bug. I am his "have you done any good today?" girl. I am the one taking the first bite of his toast. I am the one who loves to snuggle with him. I am the one who tried my hardest to be honest and good because he was honest and good. I am the one who begged him to sing "Tiddley Winkdy, Winkdy Woo" over and over again. I have his long waist, his wide hands, his english eyes, his droopy bottom. I am his daughter. His influence has shaped me into the me I am today. I look at him as tears fall freely from my eyes. He is my hero. He is my dad.
I kiss his forehead and tell him I love him. I wish he could say it back to me, but there is nothing. It is ok, because I know. He does not need to say it. I have always known.
I also know that someday, he will have his body back and it will be perfect. He will once more tickle and whistle and sing and tell "Epamenandas" and build things and serve others. I pull up his blanket and tuck it in. I kiss him one last time and say good-bye.
Suzanne, another resident, comes to dad's door looking confused and frightened. I wipe my eyes then take her hand and she smiles at me. We walk together around the facility and she is happy. I hug her and tell her to watch over my dad. She smiles again and then forgets what I said. I smile because I know the Lord is watching over them all.
