41. My Dear Dad

Once when I was 17 my dad came home from work early to find me not in school, and sitting at the dining table with red puffy eyes.  He asked why I was home, and why I was crying.  My boyfriend had broken up with me--and it was simply the end of life as I knew it!

Dad didn't lecture me about cutting school, nor did he work on the project he had come home early for.  Instead he took me by the arm, handed me some kleenex and said we're going for a drive.  I didn't feel like talking and he didn't ask one question.  My teenage heart had been broken and he allowed me the space I needed to process that.

Ten years before, my brother and I had spent our weekends and summers at a place called Lost Isle.  It was an island in the Sacramento Delta where Dad had lived for a time.  Accessible only by boat, we would meet every Friday night at the marina and head off to the island.  My brother and I knew every square inch of the island and all it's boat slips.  We were completely at home running up and down the docks and hanging our feet in the water.  We knew the smell of creosote and two-stroke fuel.  We knew who owned every boat there, which were ski boats, which were cruisers, and which were lazy houseboats.  Lost Isle, and other boat docks, were a huge part of my childhood.

On the day Dad found me ditching school and crying, he drove me to Light 29 Marina on the Sacramento River.  The smell of the creosote, the gentle rocking of the docks, and the squeaking of the slip bladders all brought great joy to me as memories of my earlier childhood came flooding back.  We had lunch at the dingy little diner on the marina, cheeseburgers and cokes.  By the time we returned home I was smiling again.

Today, Alzheimer's Disease ravages my dad.  He is quickly losing his battle; deteriorating before our eyes.  He has had Alzheimer's for a long time but fortunately remained in the early stages of the disease for a long time, with small bouts of forgetfulness here and there.  Now he has entered into a late stage and has been placed in a memory care center to keep him safe.

Three months ago, Dad began showing signs he might be slipping further into his dementia.  He was very sad and depressed.  I decided to surprise him with a day trip, just the two of us.  Remembering the day 32 years earlier when he took me to Light 29 for some cheering up, I helped him put his deck shoes on and drove him to a marina in Portland for lunch and a personalized tour.  We saw many beautiful boats, but Dad didn't really seem to understand where he was or what we were doing.  He just smiled quietly the entire time we were there.  It was a sad but beautiful day for me.

Dad always said life goes on.  Someday he will be gone, and I'll miss him very much.  But life will go on, and I will take the gems I learned from Dad with me while I continue on my own journey, and I will be at peace.