Ring in the New

I'm in Gimli, Manitoba.  It's a small town on the shores of Lake Winnipeg where I spent part of my childhood.  My parents must have fallen in love with it, because when they finally decided to retire, they moved back here.

I'm here because my Dad is sick and is into a round of aggressive radiation treatments.  He needs to go into the hospital pretty much every working day, and because my Mom can't be left by herself and bringing her along isn't an option, having an extra sibling around should be a great help to my sisters.  I can take Dad in or sit with Mom or run errands or do whatever needs to be done. 

With me being 2167 miles away, my sisters have been shouldering more than their share of responsibilities for the care of my parents.  And when I say it like that, it doesn't reflect how any of us feel about it, at least in the abstract.  In the abstract, it's a privilege to give back just a little of what they blessed us with over the years. 

Mom always talked about parenthood as giving your kids "... the best food off your plate."  And she didn't just talk the talk - she lived it.  So in the abstract, taking care of them is quite literally the least we can do.

Of course, as any loving mother will tell you, life isn't lived in the abstract, and as much as it's a privilege to have the opportunity to take care of them, the reality is it can be a lot of  ... er, opportunity.  So when my sisters called and asked if I'd like to come for a couple of weeks and  share this richness of opportunity, what kind of person would I be to say "No."?

It's bittersweet, I have to say.

I got into Winnipeg Friday night and drove up to Gimli the next morning.  On the way up, I passed the golf course where my mom and dad used to be such active members -  when I was playing hide and seek once, and had the best hiding place ever, up in the tree in our yard, but my brother saw me and it was a race to home, so I tried some sort of half-assed Tarzan move, swinging down from the branch I was on and plummeting to the ground, landing on my wrist and hearing a sickening *snap* and looking down at my arm and almost passing out just at the sight of it - they sent a golf cart out to the 12th hole to call my parents to the hospital.  (Dad:  "We've only got seven holes to go, and he's in good hands at the hospit --".  Mom:  "We're going.")

On the way to their condo I passed by our old house - #59 on 6th Avenue (Gimli has six avenues.  Total.)  As always, I marvelled at how a tiny bungalow of perhaps 1000 square feet (being generous) could hold a family with six kids.  How did we ever all shoehorn into that place?  Impossible.  Dad built two bedrooms in the basement to go with the two bedrooms upstairs and we had Air Force issue bunkbeds Dad had liberated from some barracks somewhere and it was a day when families had less stuff and more of each other and to be honest, I don't remember it being so bad.

Dad always called himself "the world's worst handyman", but I don't remember them ever calling a carpenter and lots of rooms were built over the years.  I never once saw a plumber in our house, even with six kids putting pressure on the facilities.  (Well, that's not precisely true - one time my Mom and Dad went out to some event at the Officer's Mess, and apparently Mom caught some sort of flu there because she came home and spent a long time groaning over the toilet while Dad said she was fine and chased us back to bed.  And the next morning, Dad called a plumber who  took the toilet off and fished around and came out with Mom's false teeth and advised my Dad just to put them in boiling water and wash them ten or twelve times and just never - ever - tell my Mom where he found them.)

But mostly it was Dad doing any repairs that needed doing.  So when I got to their condo and used the facilities and the downstairs toilet wouldn't flush, I was surprised to hear my Dad wheeze that he keeps forgetting to call "the guy" to fix it.

I peeked in the tank.  The chain on the ball flapper (hee!) was broken (well, torn, actually - one of those craptastic plastic connectors).  I zipped down to the hardware store, got a new ball flapper (hee!) and the repair took me about 45 seconds.  Using skills I learned from watching my Dad.

I drove Dad into Winnipeg for a single treatment on Monday.  He has today off, then treatments every day.  So we'll go to my sister's place in Winnipeg for the balance of the week before bringing them back home on the weekend.  Mom gets a little anxious when she's away from her stuff, but the hour-long trip in and out of the city is just too much.

When I went over to get him, Mom got a little upset. She doesn't like it when people take Dad away, even when it's me.  (I was always the Golden Boy, her little favourite,  and still her face lights up when I come into the room.  But here again, the cold chill of reality  kicks in: the other night, I came in and gave her a big hug and talked about the trip in and went off to deal with the toilet, and after I left Mom asked my sister, "Who was that nice fellow?")

So she was a little agitated about that nice fellow taking her husband away, but I just laughed and told her not to worry.  "I'm not gonna keep him, Mom.  Hell, would you keep him if you didn't have to?"  And she got a little grin on her face and everything was okay and I realized that I calmed her down the way I had learned to diffuse any bad situation - with a little twist of humour.  And of course, I'd learned that from my Dad.

As we drove into town in Dad's car (why the hell will they not give that thing up?  Sell it and take limos for the rest of your life and you'll still come out ahead!), I was conscious of him watching me drive.  When i drive, my eyes dart all over in a repetitive pattern: side mirror, gauges, the road ahead, rear view mirror, gauges, road ahead, side mirror, road ahead ... my eyes always moving, always aware of everything around me.  We got to a light that had just turned green and I slowed in time for some asshole running the yellow to clear the intersection - I'd slowed because I never trust other drivers to do the right thing.

"You're a good driver," my Dad said.  "Smooth."

Of course he thinks I'm a good driver.  I drive just like him.  He was a jet pilot - the compulsive checking of gauges, the constant need to know where you are in relation to everything around you - that's all him.  I remember him hammering into me that you assume all other drivers on the road - particularly ones you encounter at intersections - are stupid, drunken assholes and give them a clear berth and respect the breathtaking sweep of their assholery, and that gives you a better chance of staying alive.  My girls will tell you I hammered the same message into them.

This has turned into a long, rambly, stream-of-consciousness post, not the kind of story I normally tell.  I guess the point - assuming I had one - is that I'm spending these days being acutely aware of just how much I owe these people.  Giving me the best food off their plate meant preparing me for a million little aspects of life, showing me by example how a life should be lived, both in the abstract and in the cold, hard light of reality.  And life doesn't get colder or harder than what Dad's got ahead of him.

It feels like I'm doing the right thing by being here and doing a few small things to help out my sisters - and again, they're the ones who are throwing themselves into this phase of our lives with everything they have, and I'm incredibly grateful they're here to do by proxy what I can't do from a distance.

But doing the right thing - and again, this is something my Mom and Dad taught me - isn't always easy.  This is hard.

A good hard.  But hard.

Comments

[Bucky Four-Eyes]

How can you not ramble a little on a topic like this? It's a huge subject for one post. Obviously, your parents did a great job with you and your sibs.
Happy new year to you and your'n.

[Rob Paterson]

Ah Nils - what goes around ...
You're a good son
Hugs
Rob

[Gora_Kagaz]

this post reminds me of seeing my dad and uncle take care of their dad--he passed away recently, but always made me think about that responsibility when the time comes...i just hope i'll be able to do it as well as my dad and you.

[Lowa]

Goodness. That must be hard seeing your mother that way.

We drive the same as you. None of our kids drive yet, but we always tell them to keep a distance, watch everything and always assume someone is going to do something careless and stupid. They watch us do that and I know will be more prepared when they DO start driving. They have already obviously witnessed plenty of times when other drivers are doing something dumb and we avoid an accident by us being the ones to pay attention, like the OTHER people should also be doing.

Enjoy the rest of your time with the sibs and parents! We appreciate the update!

[CircusKelli]

Ah Nils... I don't know what to say. Bittersweet times, for sure. I can't imagine how difficult that situation is, and it scares me to think I'll be there with my Mom someday. You're doing the right thing, not the easy thing. Take care, darlin.

[AB]

Ahh, Nils! As I was winging my way to New York for a few days of frolick, you were flying even further for two weeks of...you know...opportunity. Good on you! It's hard. You have many good memories and I hope those are helpful as harsh reality does its best to obscure them. Keep in touch.

[Susie]

I was here. I just deleted a rambling, incoherent comment. This post touches me deeply and I don't know what else to say. Thanks for writing it.

[kalki]

I can't say anything at the moment. Just want you to know I was here - am here - and that, well, lots of things that I'm unable to express. I see Susie has shared the same sentiment.

[Nancy]

Your afternoon with you father sounds like trips to doctor's appointments with my father. He has heart and circulatory problems and even when I'm swamped at work but have to take him to the doctor, I take a deep breath and enjoy my time with him reminiscing.
Enjoy your time with your family; that you've taken the time to travel and help out your sisters with the appointments probably means more to them than you can imagine.

[Just Some Girl in Ohio]

I'm in a similar situation as you, although; thankfully I'm a few years (quite a few I hope) from having to worry too much more than I do now. I'm in Ohio, and my parents retired to Florida. My two brothers live in Florida as well, and I have to hope that when the time comes, they will do as good a job as I'm sure your sisters are doing. My parents are of the age where they have their minor and not so minor aches and pains, and phone conversations always contain some talk of health concerns. I do know that in the not so distant future, something major is going to come up and I'm not going to be in a position to drop everything and go running. I try not to think about it. So, cherish your parents now, and be thankful that your life is such that you are able to help out, and spend this time with them.
Take care,
~Just some girl in Ohio aka Lisa

[William]

Tis post is very touching and has come at a bittersweet time for me as well.

Thanks.

[Jim Fogg]

I've spent alot of the holidays doing elder care as well. It's often that people ask if I'm ok and comment on how it must be hard to spend time in the hospital and juggle Dtr's appointments and work and life.
Truth be told, I'm getting much more back than I'm giving. It is hard as you take over day to days tasks including banking and other affairs, including giving him regular baths. Here's a man who joined the
Merchant Navy at 16 and travelled the world. His maladies are physical and not mental, so he's fully aware of what's happening. He has given me a gift, the gift is absolute trust. It's personal and even a bit intimate. He trusts me to bath him, cook for him and look out for him, just like he did for me over 50 years ago. I've learned so much about him and about me. I never doubted he loved me, but I always thought I wasn't his kinda guy.....to his and my surprise...
it turns out I am. For that and much more, I'm etenrally grateful.

[OpraGal]

hang in there.

[Deneen]

You are, as always, a good and honorable man. And son.

[Candy]

I found myself smiling as I was reading that, even though it is clearly a bittersweet thing for you. Having been in a similar situation, I know how it feels to give back to your parents. And I can see that it fills you up, as a man and as a son.

I am sorry your Dad is not well. I hope this treatment helps, and you get more quality time with both of them.

[shari]

All I keep thinking is "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. And I hope a little wonder sneeks into your bottle, along with this time.

Of course, both time and wonder could be improved with a bottle -- of scotch or rye. Or is that just me?

[platypus]

Thinking of you. It must be hard but you're a good son, in the same way that you're a good father and a good friend. Your parents did a very good job and it's nice that you get to repay some of that - even though they wouldn't expect you to.

[cat]

"The best food off your plate..." What a beautiful, perfect precept for parenthood. Nils, you're the kind of son I hope I'm raising my son to be: strong of mind, honorable, loving, patient, good...

But minus the compulsive sexual innuendo, naturally.

Hang in there, my friend. I'm thinking of you.

[Monica C.]

Delurking to say: You've painted a marvelous picture of the good, bad, ups and downs! Makes one draw in a huge, deep sigh!

[Darin]

I believe that if you ask the question, "Are you just like your father?" ,95% of teenage boys would say NO, and 95% of men would say YES.

I, too, am an insanely careful driver, rarely breaking the speed limit, even when there's a parade of morning commuters following behind me going 50km/h on the Lower Malpeque Road. That could be part of the reason I don't work at CBC anymore... the pressure to race from one news story to the next. No thanks.

Wishing you all the best in '08,

~Darin

[Steve Boyko]

Hi Nils, I enjoyed reading your post and don't worry about being long and rambly. A topic like this needs time and space to express itself.

I'm sure your time in Manitoba is/was bittersweet. I have not had that "opportunity" to take care of my parents yet; my dad passed away very suddenly in 2006 and my mom is still pretty healthy. If/when the time comes I will be glad to do it.

I love that saying of your mother's, "the best food off your plate". Taken literally it reminds me of how I feed my youngest son, right off my plate and the best portions.

(I was in Winnipeg, Manitoba for Christmas with my wife's family. Good times)

[William]

Thinking of you and your caretaking and hoping that all goes well.

[CircusKelli]

I hope all is going well for you with your parents. Hang in there.

[Bogart in P-Towne]

Found your blog through William at Poop and Boogies...thanks for this post...My prayers are with you and your family.

[angela marie]

Quite lovely. And just what I needed today. :)

[Squirl]

Aww, hon. Sending hugs and loving thoughts.

[Prof. J.]

I love that you fixed your father's toilet. It is the small gifts that are sometimes the most fulfilling.

[platypus]

Just stopping by to see how you're doing. I hope it's OK - I know it must be tough. Thinking of you.

[William]

Hi Nilbo. Hope you are well.

[Lowa]

You back yet?

Hope everything is well.

[von Krankipantzen]

Checking in to say HI and hope things are alright with your dad and the rest of the family. Take care.

[The Kept Woman]

I yelled at my kids a lot this morning. A very lot.

Now I read this.

(sigh)

I need to be a better mom so that they can be better grown-up kids. I'm gonna need them down the road.

P.S. This does NOT mean I was wrong. The amount of shit they had strewn about the house was RI-DICK-ULOUS. Absolutely.

[angela marie]

Just back and wondering how you (and your dad) are doing.

[For The Puppies dot com]

Will you please update this site, Mr. Ling! I'm afraid the puppies are going to have puppies of their own before y'all get around to it.

Thank you.

[MrsDoF]

Happy Groundhog Day!
Ours saw its shadow for sure, and the temp went up to 37oF so that the snow began melting.

A month of Withdrawal---I'm having convulsions over here.

Ar you Home yet? How is Everybody?

[CircusKelli]

It's been a while since you've updated your blog, Mr. Ling. I hope all is well with you and yours. Thinking of you.

[kalki]

Miss you. Also, I made a joke about your age in my comment section today. Just tryin' to rile you a bit... ;)

[Lowa]

Dude.

PLEASE!

COME BACK!!!

[Jodi]

If, for some bizarre reason that right now I can't even imagine existing, I ever need a reminder of why I adore you so much, I'm directing myself back to this entry. Not just for how it's written, but for *what* is written.