Tag: Sunday

Hands

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His hands were thick and stocky. The fingers twisted and knotted from a lifetime of physical labor. He carried each of his daughters with those hands. He threatened to end many a boys lives with those hands; just let one of those boys be foolish enough to harm his girls. Those hands dried tears and helped to wipe runny noses. Those hands were quick to unleash justice from the end of his belt even if his pants threatened to fall down. I miss those hands. When I was a little girl I used to like to watch my Dad’s hands as they worked. He ran a mean a shoe shine kit. I loved watching him fix his car or work on a project or when he let me watch him shave. I would sit quietly on the edge of the sink as my Pop prepped his face for a Sunday before church shave. Everyday before my Dad left for work he would use his electric shaver or a make quick run over his chops with a cheap disposable razor but Sundays were special. On Sundays my Dad went out of his way to be dressed in his absolute best. I miss the smell of Old Spice in the air.

My Dad would stand at the bathroom sink, while hot water filled the basin and he would tell me the stories of his Dad. How his father before him had a straight razor, a strop, a brush, and a mug with a cake of shaving soap. My Dad would wet his cupped hands in the basin drawing hot water up to his face. He’d grab the boar haired brush off its little stand and wet it in the sink. He would spin that brush over the surface of the cake in the mug until the lather spilled out over the edge and I could smell the fragrant soap in the air. He would make the funniest of faces while he dragged that soapy brush all over his face and neck. I was mesmerized by the act of shaving:   rinsing, shaving, lathering, shaving…
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I loved to watch my Dad make himself beautiful. When he was finished shaving he’d pour some Old Spice into his hands rub them together quickly and then give his face a few quick slaps. “Good for what ails you” he announced to no one in particular. If I was lucky he’d dab a little on my cheeks and send me on my way. I loved smelling like a hug from my Dad  It made me feel special. =  )

As a child I remember many nights when he came home from work tired, hungry and beaten by the crap of the day. There was always something more to do. Sound familiar? How he looked forward to the weekend. How we all look forward to the weekend, feelings lost on the foolishness of youth but cherished today for what they really mean to an adult.

Now I realize that I was making memories, then I was just loving my Dad for all of the things that made him special to me.

I miss you Pops.

It’s Sunday Morning

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For the first time in months I have been allowed to sleep in. Somehow my hubby most have gotten engrossed in a book or is playing a video game or he might even be watching TV. Harder still to believe that my phone did not jolt me awake at 6ish a.m. with a barrage of questions from my Dad. I roll over still hazy with sleep. I can sort of see through my blurry vision that it is 8:27 a.m.! Hard for me to believe it is really this late. Ever wonder why the morning muscle stretch feels so damn good? I don’t know either but what an awesome way to start a day. As I stretch out my limbs the phone rings. I reach over to grab the cordless from the night stand. I don’t even have to check the caller ID I know it is my Dad. “Trish?”
“Yes, Pops.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Nope. I just woke up, the cat was letting me pat her so I was lounging in bed. What do you need?”
“What day is it? Sunday?”
“It is. Did you take your pills this morning?” I can hear him open the cabinet door. “Wait a minute. I’ll do it now.” He puts his end of the line down. I can hear the fridge door open. I yell into the receiver,” drink water!”
“Water?”
“Yes, water.” After another minute of me trying to hear over the phone what is going on in my Dad’s apartment, from across the city, he picks up his line again. “Mission accomplished.” I can almost see him smile his goofy smile into the phone. ” Are you coming over today?”
“Yes, Dad. I come over everyday. But, first I need coffee and breakfast and a hot shower.”

Lost My Sh*t Sunday

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Not every day can be stellar. Some are doomed from the first jarring ring of the alarm clock. I hate days like that. I was fooled today. I thought today was going to be a history maker. You know what I am talking about that kind of day when everything fits and you are in the zone. I slept well. I felt well. I was waking up and it was NOT snowing. I barely got my first cup of coffee down when my perfect day suddenly twisted in on itself.

I am struggling with the everyday need. He needs me. He Needs me. HE NEEDS ME. Some days he calls me fifteen times in the span of a few hours. I get overwhelmed. I can’t catch my breath. I feel small, alone, helpless, a failure. I am tired. There is no room in my life for anything. I take excellent care of my Dad; yet at the end of my day I feel like I have accomplished nothing.

My Dad (yes, with a capital D)  is a hot mess. He lives with dementia. I love this man. He has taught me so many things. He helped to shape the person I am today. I love to laugh, sing and watch old Tarzan movies. He took his daughters on many odd, out of the way field trips, therefore I am adventurous. He loved ice cream, still does but I won’t let him eat too much of it. He loved us with his whole being. I saw him cry a few times when he thought he had let one of us down. My Dad is one of the good guys.

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Dementia takes a toll from everyone involved. It magnifies your loved ones quirks. My Dad was always slightly mistrustful. Now he doesn’t trust a soul not even himself. He is easily frustrated and doesn’t  remember how to calm himself down when he gets  worked up. He is lonely in a crowded room. It is too hard for him to follow a conversation if there are more than two or three people involved. He thinks that people break into his house to leave things. This always makes me laugh. “Pop, for real? Who breaks into someone’s house to leave stuff? No one does that. Well, not any crooks I ever heard of !”

His life revolves around routine. Disrupt the routine disrupt the peace. Winter is a tough ride for us. Every storm brings a new challenge. Anxiety is the worst enemy. He starts to worry that I won’t be able to get to him. He worries the lights will go out. He worries he will run out of food ( ice cream ). He worries I will die and no one will take care of him. He worries so much he frazzles my last nerve.

You know what I miss? I miss him. The man I called Daddy was strong, handsome, funny. He made me feel safe, loved.

I lost my sh*t Sunday. He called. He sounded nervous and unsure of himself. He said he needed me right away. I picked up the phone, I yelled at him and hung up…and then I cried and cried and cried. I want someone to tell me that everything will be ok even if it’s not the reality. I want my Dad to have his memories. I want him to be free.