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When Our Parents Need Us, Caring for Aging Parents
by
Lynnita
Mattock
| "The Shaving Episode"
One afternoon while Dad was sitting in his recliner, I told him he needed to shave. "No, I’m too tired and it stings," he said. Frustrated, I said, "Dad, we’re having trouble keeping you clean." Then I turned and walked back out to the kitchen, envisioning a long beard with lice in it. A few minutes later he summoned me back into the living room. "I guess you can shave me a little," he said. Perhaps his innate fastidiousness was still strong enough for my comment to bother him. I told him to let me know if it stings and also told him if he’d let me shave him every day, it probably wouldn’t sting. He just grunted. I did a quick shave during which I asked him periodically if it was feeling okay. Another grunt. Then after I had returned to the kitchen, put the shaver away, and was in the middle of doing dishes, he summoned me again. "You missed a spot," he said, his fingers rubbing along his lower jaw. Heading back into the kitchen for the razor, I knew what I was in for. Half a dozen summons later, he was finally satisfied with the shave and settled back in his recliner for a nap, his face a study of mischievous satisfaction. I simply shook my head, knowing I had to pay the price for implying that he was unkempt.
"The Painting Episode" One thing not going for us was Mom many years ago had painted the kitchen and dining room green. Everything seemed to be proceeding as planned until Lorraine called to me while I was painting one of the bedrooms. I went out to the dining room where she was standing staring at the wall I had just finished. "Do you see green?" she asked. Now, Lorraine is an artist. I’m not. She can see beauty, ugliness, (whatever an artist sees) in anything. I can’t. I pretty much accept the world as it is as long as it has chocolate in it. But even I had to admit there was a green sheen to that wall. "Should I put another coat on it?" I asked her. "I think so." So I did. Then I put another coat on. Then another. Finally while standing beside Lorraine, glaring at the obstinate wall, I said, "You do it." She did and it looked great. Until the next day. I happened to be standing in the hallway just outside of the bathroom when I noticed what looked like streaks on the Wall - the same wall Lorraine had completely repainted the day before. I called to her and pointed at the streaks. We both stared in awe. "Shall we leave it?" "I’m not touching it again."
"An Honor"
On a warm, lazy afternoon when Dad was spending one of his lengthy sessions
on the commode and I was straightening the towel we kept on his recliner, he
reached for my hand. I asked him, "Are you ready to get up, Dad?"
He said, "No, I just want to hold your hand." I stood there for a while, my
hand in his, savoring a rare moment of peace with my father.
It was an honor. An honor to hold his hand. An honor to be with him. And
most of all it was an honor to have the privilege of helping him through
probably the most difficult time of his life. Copyright 2002, all rights reserved |
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