It’s been ten years exactly since my father’s death, and like so many experiences it seems on one level very distant but also very recent. Funny how memory does that. Memory. The precise thing that was responsible for his demise. My older brother reminded me recently that the horrific-ness of dementia is that you lose your loved one twice. First mentally and then physically. It’s brutal. And as much as you try and prepare for the inevitable you are never truly prepared. How can you be? Instead, I think the best you can hope for is to be fortunate enough to be with them as a family when that moment finally arrives. We were ten years ago- all sitting around his bedside, alternating holding his hand sharing stories and being present. I am so thankful for that, that looking back on that day it kind of provides a silver lining.
In tribute to my dad, instead of sharing a specific memory or moment we had together I’d thought I would share a poem that I often think about when thinking about him and his philosophy on life. A man of deep personal faith my dad had an uncanny ability to see moments and situations in life and be able to put these matters in perspective. And typically, through his own unique sayings, quips and euphemisms his advice boiled down to this central theme: life is tough and full of challenges and that some days things will go your way, but many days they will not so be prepared, be true to yourself, be humble and do not, above all else, concern yourself with what others think when you are following your heart.
IF-Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
I miss you each and everyday dad and I love you. It doesn’t get easier, it is just different. We will see each other again.
outtatheboat 