My Parents Did It Their Way

While decluttering recently I came across my Dad’s open-heart surgery post-op paperwork. I’m still holding on to it even though he passed some time ago and the need to keep it has long passed also.

Along with the paperwork I found a journal of my Mom’s. She used to write down all the repairs to their house and other milestone events that she deemed important. The entries began in 1978. Year after year she describes what was done and why and the date. The pages were then neatly folded over once they were filled to capacity. Her handwriting remained the same until 2001 when her writing became larger and less precise and in 2002 her entries disappeared completely.

Entries in my Dad’s handwriting appeared sporadically after that until November of 2002 when all entries stopped altogether. It wasn’t until 2007 that I began taking care of them, yet I wonder if this was a road map of her dementia and his caregiving experience. I know they were bravely hiding her symptoms for quite some time before it became obvious something serious was going on, and that my Dad was feeling caregiver burnout out from caring for her while facing his own health issues.

I look back now at those days and appreciate the storyline of the dates and times in this paperwork I hold on to. Although it’s painful and sad and makes me miss them so much, it’s also a reminder of the brave fight they put up to remain independent, self-sufficient, and brave.

I wish they had communicated earlier on how they were faring and how much they were hurting. I’d love to say that open communication would have helped us, but I know in my heart they would have done it all over again the same way. They were proud and confident and truly believed they had it covered. I’m sure they hesitated often and became afraid but decided to hang in there on their own, time and time again.

I can no longer fault them for this. I used to be angry and resentful that they hid their aging and declining health from us. But now I see that it was exactly as it should be. I understand now and realize it was selfish for me to want them to do it all my way. They deserved the right to fight their demons as they wished. There was some sort of plan and I was alerted to step in exactly when I was supposed to, in the right place and the right time. We danced our dance together exactly as we were meant to. I have no right to judge them or the plan. I can still feel bad that they suffered but respect their choice and timing and feel comfort in knowing I was there for them when they finally asked me to help. In the end, we all played our part perfectly.

I will hold on to these papers, journals, and other roadmaps of their journey and marvel at the memories they reveal and the mysteries they unfold. They remind me of a part of my parents I love and respect and hold so dear.  They chose to do it their way and in so doing lived the latter part of their lives with the same gusto of their youth. I’m grateful for their power of example and my ability now to appreciate it.