I can't recall the very first memory I had of my dad; All I remember is that he was there throughout my childhood, like a dad should be. He was a central point, dependable, hard working and generous. He was there to teach me, guide me, provide for me and yes, chastise me when I required; More often than I would like I guess, but I was a cheeky kid so deserved it and it helped shape me into who I am now.
No, I can't recall the specific moment I first recall his presence, but deep down within me I know that he was always there, from the first moment I arrived.
Memories...I don't know what it is about them that makes remembering so powerful but it is. A memory has the power to take a person back through time, good and bad times, and to gladden the heart, bring extreme happiness and pitiful sadness. It is a powerful force and I am blessed with a strong ability to recall; An amazing memory.
My dad...The most enduring memory I have of him is him at an easel, brushes and paints in hand, dabbing and stroking away at his canvas with all of his immense skill. If I close my eyes and think of my dad, that's what I see most often.
Of course I can see him clicking Lego's together with me, holding the back of my bike when I learned to ride, kicking the football...A million other things too. But art defined my dad and I'm proud to boast that he was a magnificent artist, and matched that in terms of being my dad too; He painted an excellent life us kids, and in so doing, himself also.
My dad has been brought low by dementia and has, for some time, not known who I am without a prompt.
He has serious ailments and for the last several months I had to work through day after day of medical issues, changes of medications, hospital visits and end-of-life scares that have seen me a little on edge. The nursing home where he resides, and the doctors keep me in formed though, and I am grateful for that and to have had my wife Faith at my side to assist.
The last week has brought things to a head. Friday night I had to end my cat's life, Merlin, a mate I have had for twenty two years. The following day I was told my father had stopped eating and drinking. That was five days ago.
Right now, as I type this, my dad lies in his bed, immobile and in a deep sleep. He is being given end-of-life care and will soon depart this world.
I've spent the morning on the phone speaking to the relevant people and my sister and brother from interstate are making plans to come here. I'm not sure how I feel in full yet, or how I will feel when he passes, probably much like I did when I lost my mum I suppose. Part of me wants him to release, to leave the pain and suffering behind and ascend, and part of me wants to rewind to when I was a kid and my dad seemed so strong and dependable.
Writing helps. Writing this I mean. It orders my thoughts, and of course, brings those memories flooding back to me. This is what writing has always done for me, and reading; It brings me a certain calmness; Peace I guess you could say. Memories are really just stories, and the memories I have of my childhood with my parents will stay with me forever.
As a kid I would look forward to bed time as dad would come in and tell us a story. He'd do the voices of the characters and it was always a fun adventure. I think he got too caught up in the story as they'd be full of action and excitement...Didn't he know he was supposed to be soothing us to sleep with a relaxing story? I loved it though, and can recall trying to fall asleep with images of his characters and their adventures vivid in my mind.
My dad turned eighty four last week and his adventure is coming to its final destination.
In days, possibly today, he will let go of the troubles of life and cross over to somewhere else. He will leave behind four sons and a daughter, four daughter in-laws and three grandchildren...He will move on to new adventures and I'm sure will paint a glorious world around him full of life, vibrant colour and wonder, as he did all his life.
I become more like my dad each day, and yet will never be half the man he was. You would have to know him to understand that. I may write some more about this man who has suffered so greatly, rose from extreme and brutal adversity, and painted life the way he wanted it to be...But not now.
Thank you for your patience and for indulging me this post. My responses moving forward into the next days may be slower, however I draw great strength from the community and ask that, if you feel like responding, you still do so. I will appreciate it very much.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised.
Be well
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