Friday, February 7, 2014
Well, it’s that time of year again. I’m not talking about tax time, I’m talking about my birthday! I’m going to be 43 this year, and, as usual, it gets me to thinking about my life. I can’t have a birthday anymore without thinking about my dad, for a couple of reasons. The first one, of course, is the fact that he was present for so many, from my birth, to the tool box he gave me for my 12th birthday, to the innertubing party at Snoqualmie for my 16th – when he patiently transported six hysterical teenagers in the camper-truck.
The second reason is that this is the week that we moved him into the Adult Family Home where he currently lives, and where I sincerely hope he draws his last breath. It has been four years since it became evident that he could no longer stay in Assisted Living and needed to leave; four years since we found Greg and his wonderful house and moved Dad right in. It is also worth mentioning that the afternoon we moved him was my and my husband’s fourth date (you know you’ve found a good one when he helps you move your demented father into a new place. Thanks, honey!)
I still feel lucky every day that we found such a good place for Dad to live. Every February that rolls around, I remember that move. A few days after we moved him in, I took the remainder of my birthday cupcakes over to share with the house, and there Dad was, settled in on the couch, relaxed, like he had lived there for years. He liked the cupcake, too.
I am so grateful that I found this good, safe place for him where he can be comfortable. It was a birthday wish come true at the time, and his continued comfort is a wish fulfillment, too. I wonder sometimes how many more February’s there will be when I celebrate both the anniversary of my birth and finding a good home for my Dad. For his sake, I almost hope there won’t be many more. I’m to go see him this week, to spend time with him and remember what it is like (sort of) to have a parent around at a birthday. Maybe I’ll bring a cupcake for each of us!