Watching A Parent Age

Watching a parent age is a journey marked by a blend of tenderness nostalgia, and a profound sense of helplessness. To see my father, transform from someone who was so strong and invincible to a person that tugs at your heartstrings – a bittersweet experience that shakes my core.

As a child, my father was my first hero – he taught me how to fish, ride a bike, play catch, shoot a gun, and gave me the strength and wisdom to form the bedrock of my early life. He created a sense of security that carried over into my adult life. However, as time passes, the roles began to shift, and I had to face the stark reality of caring for the people that once cared for me. This is the ugly side of growing old.

The small changes gradually happened over time – the appearance of a few gray hairs, the aches and pain grunts, subtle hearing loss, and the slight stoop in his posture. All these changes happened over a long period of time and became overlooked with the hustle and bustle of daily life. But gradually, one day, the signs became more pronounced and harder to avoid. A father who once ran alongside me, full of energy, now moves slowly, his steps carefully measured and cautious. His body that was once strong has become frail and unrecognizable to what it was.

Conversations change -stories from the past become more frequent, as if he is trying to anchor himself in a time, he felt more vibrant and in control. Recollections of his youth, tales of our childhood, and cherished family memories are shared and increased in repetitiveness. He lives now to see our faces, and the faces of his grandchildren walk through the front door. What once was a man who traveled and could not sit still – to a man that does not leave the house.

There is poignant beauty in these moments – I see glimpses of the vibrant man he once was, even with the inevitable frailties of his age. His wisdom that was gained through the decades of experiences, sometimes shines through his words, even when his body no longer allows him to participate.

A man that always had an enormous appetite, now struggles to eat as much as a toddler would. Prescriptions all prepared in a weekly container, and medical appointments become a regular part of his routine. The Father that always protected me and once reassured me that everything would be alright now needs my reassurance in return.

The role reversal is both humbling and challenging. It becomes that sweet balance of respect for their privacy with the necessity of ensuring their safety and well-being. It requires patience, empathy, and a deep well of love. We learn the delicate dance of offering assistance without undermining his dignity. The last thing he wants is to be a burden, as he often apologizes to his family seeing him this way. My mother has taken over the role as his caretaker – she has demonstrated courage in the most profound way. Her love for my father is a bond that has committed her to a 60-year marriage, for better or worse. I level of loyalty since they were 16 years old.

In witnessing a parent age, we confront our own mortality. The inevitability of aging becomes personal and immediate. It prompts us to reflect on our lives, our choices, and the legacy we wish to leave behind. We gain a deeper appreciation for the present moment and relationships that enrich our lives – sharing our life with a partner.

Seeing my father age is a journey of love and acceptance – it is an opportunity to give back a fraction of the care and devotion I have received. It is a testament to the enduring power of family, a reminder that, despite the passage of time, the love between a parent a child remains steadfast and true.

So, when you are driving home after work and you are tired and anxious to get home, take a side trip to your parent’s house to say hello.