Adrift in Time
May. 28th, 2007 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thisnewdayLast monday was my dad's 92nd birthday. He still lives in the old hometown, still drives his car, cooks and cleans for himself, goes to the store.
But this spring, despite his fierce independence, he was sick enough that I had to go home and take care of him. I spent a month there and, once he was better, visited family I hadn't seen in some time. All of which made me realize that, one day, a profound change will have overtaken my own life. On that day, I'll no longer be the storyteller's son, the understudy, the patient listener to family histories.
On the Friday after dad's birthday, my youngest daughter and I made the four hour drive from syracuse to erie, spent the afternoon with him, and took him out to dinner, before returning home that evening. When I'd called him about our plans, earlier in the week, he said it was the best present he could've hoped for. I think, i hope, that by the time it was over, the day had met his expectations.
For her part, Sarah listened attentively to the inevitable stories and later said she was glad to have been there, glad to have heard them. I'm glad for her too, that she got to hear a few of them firsthand. But the fact is that there are countless numbers of them and myriad lives wrapped within them. Lives that continue to exist, in that virtual twilight of the storyteller's making, because the storyteller himself still lives.
I can take on a small part of that, perhaps already have. But only the part that's visible to me, only the part that I'm able to feel, and find my own words for. After that, all the rest of it, all those lives, some as precious to me as they were to him, will be set adrift in time...
LPK
LiveJournal
5.28.2007
But this spring, despite his fierce independence, he was sick enough that I had to go home and take care of him. I spent a month there and, once he was better, visited family I hadn't seen in some time. All of which made me realize that, one day, a profound change will have overtaken my own life. On that day, I'll no longer be the storyteller's son, the understudy, the patient listener to family histories.
On the Friday after dad's birthday, my youngest daughter and I made the four hour drive from syracuse to erie, spent the afternoon with him, and took him out to dinner, before returning home that evening. When I'd called him about our plans, earlier in the week, he said it was the best present he could've hoped for. I think, i hope, that by the time it was over, the day had met his expectations.
For her part, Sarah listened attentively to the inevitable stories and later said she was glad to have been there, glad to have heard them. I'm glad for her too, that she got to hear a few of them firsthand. But the fact is that there are countless numbers of them and myriad lives wrapped within them. Lives that continue to exist, in that virtual twilight of the storyteller's making, because the storyteller himself still lives.
I can take on a small part of that, perhaps already have. But only the part that's visible to me, only the part that I'm able to feel, and find my own words for. After that, all the rest of it, all those lives, some as precious to me as they were to him, will be set adrift in time...
LPK
LiveJournal
5.28.2007
