Home, and Not
I don't know how you folks all feel about visiting your parents (if indeed, you have parents to visit, still living, or still spoken to, or maybe a place where you feel close to your parents when they've left this earth), but my visits are sometimes fraught -- with old gripes, old wounds, old patterns that just won't be. But age can be a great window for change.
I'm in Victoria for my birthday, and I fully realize that this may be my last one with my dad, especially (or not, anything can happen). It's actually pretty great. He sleeps a lot, and is only mobile with a new electric wheelchair that must make him feel like Mario Andretti, it's so powerful. Yesterday, with the blessing of an hour or two of real sunshine, my dad and I took a spin round their massive garden (they have 5 acres, all rhododendrons). This was always a fond memory, touring the garden with Dad. He's an acknowledged rhodo expert, and the garden, while it has seen better days, still shows it's a labour of love. Nowadays, my dad isn't as vocal, his mind isn't as sharp, and he doesn't always remember the words, but yesterday he was in good form and it was a gift, such a gift, to be able to take a slow tour, and for him to tell me names and little stories about who hybridized them, and what needed doing next.
Things that once seemed vitally important to argue about now don't really seem like the point. The topics are still important, of course--women's rights, the place of a traditional education, politics, for example--but they don't seem worth the effort with Dad, or Mum. There are more important things to talk about: how did that bowl come into the family, what nephew T. said last week, where on earth will NitGirl go to university?
On this, the day of my birth, I acknowledge the gift that my birthmother gave me--life--and I also acknowledge the depth of love the family of my raising gave me. Thanks, everyone.
I'm in Victoria for my birthday, and I fully realize that this may be my last one with my dad, especially (or not, anything can happen). It's actually pretty great. He sleeps a lot, and is only mobile with a new electric wheelchair that must make him feel like Mario Andretti, it's so powerful. Yesterday, with the blessing of an hour or two of real sunshine, my dad and I took a spin round their massive garden (they have 5 acres, all rhododendrons). This was always a fond memory, touring the garden with Dad. He's an acknowledged rhodo expert, and the garden, while it has seen better days, still shows it's a labour of love. Nowadays, my dad isn't as vocal, his mind isn't as sharp, and he doesn't always remember the words, but yesterday he was in good form and it was a gift, such a gift, to be able to take a slow tour, and for him to tell me names and little stories about who hybridized them, and what needed doing next.
Things that once seemed vitally important to argue about now don't really seem like the point. The topics are still important, of course--women's rights, the place of a traditional education, politics, for example--but they don't seem worth the effort with Dad, or Mum. There are more important things to talk about: how did that bowl come into the family, what nephew T. said last week, where on earth will NitGirl go to university?
On this, the day of my birth, I acknowledge the gift that my birthmother gave me--life--and I also acknowledge the depth of love the family of my raising gave me. Thanks, everyone.