Dad

 I want to write about my dad but how do you put into words a million of reasons and feelings that have no words? 

I have to try. I have to write something. . . when I started this journal, I never thought how raw the words would pour out and scar the page. But now..... Now I need it to see in black and white what my mouth and voice could never put a sound on.

How do I even begin? I mean...... Where do I start? 

Ok, lets just put on the table what my pain really is..... Dad is elderly. And he is feeble. And it is breaking me. 

God! Can anyone understand? I don't even know how to put into words how it is shattering my mind and spirit. 

I visited dad last week up in Michigan. I am from Tennessee now and it is quite a trip to get to him and there are times I don't physically see or hug him for over a year. The last two visits though have been in six months because before last Christmas, my dad had a stroke. Not a major make him paralyzed or disabled one but a big enough one to change him. . . to change him from the man I know and grew up with. After looking at the MRI that stroke was not the only one.... He has had others too. And it is eating away at me each time I talk to him. 

My dad was the type of dad that lead his house. And my dad's house was not a building, it was his marraige and his children and his family and his friends and his grit and his whole way of life. His house was not things, it was people and his deep down core values that he pulled from to lived by. 

Do you see? Can you understand why I am breaking?

My dad is the type of man that couldn't give a care in the world about a broken toy but would get in a rage if his boys were fighting with each other. My dad was the type of man  that would fight an insurance company tooth and nail over a bill but wouldn't blink an eye to buy his friend a set of tires they needed for the upcoming winter. My dad would take a belt to my behind for lying or stealing but would drive three hours up to my college in order to surprise me with my dog after I called him defeated in tears and rage about failing the third test in a row in quantitative analysis.

My dad was the type of man that didn't keep score or thought anyone of his friends owed him for anything. My dad was the type of man that always made the right choice in all his decisions. My dad was the type of that drew good men around him that would literally do anything to help him.... No strings attached. My dad was the type of man that was intelligent and wise but was humble enough to know there were others that he could learn from. My dad was the type man that could be hard as steel but also was kind and accepting of anyone at face value. 

My dad was the type of man that would answer the phone to his broken down crying son whether it was one in the afternoon or one in the morning and give him calm and reassuring comfort and wisdom when his son didn't know what else to do. 

That is the type of man my dad is.... Was.....

Can you see know? Can you understand why I am breaking? 

My dad was the type of husband that was so loyal that no woman ever tested him but in which all women envied his wife. He was the type of husband that showed his love to her without shame and made sure his children knew that she was a priority in his life. He would be a partner in caring for the house and the kids. . . especially his boys. . .me. He would be flirty and playful. He would be giddy when he would surprise her with gifts or flowers. He would care for her tenderly when she was sick or had surgery. And, he would brag to others about her. I saw it all and I took careful note of it. 

Dad spent time with us and talked with us and expressed his views and feelings with us. He knew that we all were different and set different boundaries for us as he saw what we needed. He trusted mom's advice for us and would take her lead when he was unsure. But mostly, being a dad was just part of his being. It was like he was born to be a dad and was so confident in all he did with us and for us. 

That was the type of man my dad is. . . was

I visited him again so soon after I visited him six months before and he is not the same man I knew. He seems less confident. He seems frail and unsure of himself. He slurs his words and he loses his train of thought. He doesn't laugh as easily and he is more quiet than he ever was. He rambles his thoughts as he is thinking them and they seem so random and disorganized. It's like he is another person. 

He seems so different from the man I knew growing up. 

And he doesn't whistle anymore. 

And that thought alone catches in my throat and pulls tears unbidden out of my eyes. 

How can he not feel like whistling?

God! I am feeling the loss of never hearing his whistle again!

Then I think about what type of man I have become. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that he is tickled and proud of who I am and what I have done with my life. But in my mind, I think that I will never be the man he is.... Was. This feeling I have... This unworthiness plagues my journals. And I look up to my dad and can only hope to grind my teeth and dig in my heels and pull up the grit I need to hit this life full in the face just like he did. I want to be the husband he was and the father he was when I was growing up. I want to be the man he was, the man I knew, the man I experienced. But I just don't feel like I am there. I just don't feel like I am getting it done like he did.  

Did he worry and think like that? My head and reason say yes but my eyes and gut can't believe it. I don't want to know. I don't want it to be true. I want to remember him as I do right now. I want to remember the leader I have in my memory. I want him to stay that man in my child's mind that never saw weakness in him. 

I could only hope to feel like I am the man I know my dad to be. 

So today is a hard day. I am trying to let go. I am trying to let go and admit to myself that my dad is not that man anymore and to admit that he is elderly. I have to admit that he has had several strokes and will not be the man I knew growing up. 

And I don't want to. I don't want to face that truth. I'm not ready. I will never be ready.

So, I am struggling. I don't want to admit it.  Because of the type of man my dad was.