A Father's Lessons on Aging and Dying

When I go down to the grave I can say I have finished my day's work. But I cannot say I have finished my life. My day's work will begin again the next morning. -Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

     My mother died at the age of fifty while still in her prime. So, although she taught me almost everything I knew about becoming a woman, she passed on before she could teach me about aging. Thus, I looked to my father for those life lessons. He died at the age of 80, but truth be told, that was not the end of his life. In many ways it was the beginning.

     My father retired at the age of 62 after working for 35 years in a steel mill.  Before his retirement he had been a heavy drinker and I worried that without my mother to nag him about his bad habits, he would drink himself into an early grave. But after his retirement, he sobered and ripened into a wise elder and respected community member.



Dad and me in 1980s after he retired 

     My father loved to garden and after he retired his garden overflowed with beans, tomatoes, and greens. In his youth he had joined the Freemasonry. After retirement he was elected treasurer of their local lodge.  He also assumed the role of caretaker for our dear Aunt Lily who was well in her 90s by then. In short, he lived a full life after retirement.



Dad and Aunt Lily

     I'll never forget the phone call I received from my nephew telling me my father had been stricken with lung cancer.  He was 79 years old and the doctors had given him only four months to live. Hearing that news was a blow to my stomach
 

     When I recovered, I had to accept the inevitable. My sisters, nephew and I went into action to assume the role of caretakers for dad who had been independent since he left home at the age of 18. There were doctor appointments, chemo and radiation treatments, medical bills, wills and estate plans - all the business of death and dying.

     Through it all, I observed my father's reaction to becoming dependent on his children. After getting over the initial shock, he assumed the role of a father and grandfather who was determined to live to the fullest whatever days he had left.

     There was his 80th birthday to celebrate.  His children and grandchildren traveled from all over the country for his first and last birthday party.  There were balloons, singing, picture taking, and plenty of food. He reclined on the sofa in his pajamas soaking up all of the birthday wishes, hugs and kisses, and even gathering up enough wind to blow out candles on the cake.


Dad at his 80th birthday party

     The ten months he lived after that birthday are forever etched in memory. The were hours spent playing checkers with him to ward off dementia. Trips to the local gym for physical therapy. And hours just sitting at his bedside in silence when he was too weak to talk. Once when I was helping him change his Depends, he joked, "Well the Bible says once a man twice a child. I guess I'm a child again."

     Through it all, I never heard him complain - not once! When asked how he was feeling, he'd always say, "I'm fine. I feel good."
 

     He passed away quietly at home in July 2005. At his memorial service and funeral, countless neighbors, friends, and family members expressed their condolences and spoke of ways he had helped them. Although he has left this world, I feel his presence now as strong as ever. Driving around in the old Buick he left me, I can still hear him guiding me, telling me to slow down and pay attention to the road ahead.

     I am forever grateful for a father who loved me unconditionally and taught me not only how to live, but how to age and die gracefully.