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We were visiting them at Christmas. Sunday morning Chris took Alan and the kids site seeing, while I went to the nursing home with Mary Lou.
She explained that each Sunday, she came to the nursing home to help her father dress and then take him to worship service with Chris and her. I was a little nervous about going with her. I'm not traditionally great with strangers, let alone old strangers.
Mary Lou told me a little about her dad as we walked in. She was an only child and her mother had passed on several years before. Her dad was suffering from some dementia, but he usually knew her. She took him out to lunch and for a drive around the countryside after worship each Sunday, and she tried to visit him at least one other day each week. She spoke with caregivers daily.
We got to his room and she greeted him with joy and love. He was resting on his bed. She chatted with him about his morning, and introduced me to him. He had kind eyes and a loving smile, and he couldn't take his eyes off of his daughter.
They bantered about jackets and gloves, as she led him into the bathroom to change into his church clothes. I was in awe. She was so sweet and loving -- so capable and at ease with this man -- her father. They spoke loving words and little private jokes to one another. I could hear them through the door.
Once he was dressed, we strolled through the hallways at his pace. He and I waited in the warm interior while she retrieved the car. Once he was settled into the car we headed off to meet the others for worship.
Their relationship was a revelation to me. I had never seen a father and daughter so loving and kind to each other. I kept thinking about how I would feel if I were in her shoes. Caring for this elderly man with diminishing memories and a need to always have gloves and a handkerchief. None of it seemed to faze her. I saw nothing but love in her face. She glowed with love and appreciation for him, and he was totally at ease with her and the care she was providing.
It was a foreign concept to me. I marveled at the way love -- true, unconditional love -- comes full circle, with daughter caring for father in the same way he had once cared for her.
Write about a time you saw someone doing something kind for someone else. (inspired byGigi’s Ramblings)
link up at MAMA'S losing IT
His name was Horace, and looking back now, I realize that he loved me unconditionally. He was married to my great grandmother’s sister. We just called her Auntie. They were old. They’d never had children, but had taken care of several generations of nieces and nephews. Their home was always open and welcoming. I’m sure he wasn’t perfect, but he seemed perfect to me. I never saw him angry. He was warm, loving and accepting. I could do no wrong in his eyes.
My sister and I would go and visit them. If we stayed overnight we all slept in the big room in the attic. There were 2 double beds that faced each other from opposite walls. Auntie and my sister would sleep in the bed on the left while Uncle Horace and I would sleep on the right. I never felt as secure as when we were all tucked in for the night. Normally Auntie and Uncle Horace slept downstairs in their bedroom, but when we stayed they slept in the attic with us so we wouldn’t be scared.
Eventually they sold the house and moved to the country. Not long after that Auntie had a stroke and died. We all went to the funeral and I held onto Uncle Horace all day. When we returned to the house he marched straight back to their bedroom returning a few moments later carrying Auntie’s china doll. He carefully placed her in my arms and said, “She always said you were to have this. I gave her this doll before I went to fight in World War I.” I have treasured that doll and that memory ever since.
After that we didn’t see much of Uncle Horace. My parents apparently didn’t make the time to drive out to see him anymore which meant I couldn’t see him either. Later I heard he’d moved into a nursing home. Eventually I assumed he’d died.
A few years ago I went to visit their graves. I wanted to take a moment to let them know what they had meant to me. An oasis of love and acceptance in a childhood riddled with pain and fear. I placed flowers on their graves, and told them I loved them. That’s when I noticed Horace’s death date. He’d been alive when I married. He could have been at my wedding! I’ve worked hard to accept that I didn’t abandon him personally. I was a child and thus limited in what I could do. But I miss those opportunities I could have had with him to give and receive love and acceptance.
His is the first face I’ll look for in heaven.
