Yesterday was Father’s Day, a day we celebrate and honor those special dad’s in our life. I know for some holidays like this can be difficult either because their relationship with their father is strained or trauma invoking or because they have been able to become a father themselves. For me however it has always been a day to be grateful for my own kids who have made me a father and to celebrate and honor the most important man in my life, my own dad.
As a child I remember always wanting to be just like my dad. I looked up to him and he was always quick to let me know how proud of me he was, which I am learning later in life is apparently more of an anomaly than the norm. My dad was quick to teach my brothers and me how to throw a ball, play soccer, or snow ski. He also taught us how to treat others with love and respect and instilled in us a great work ethic. He was kind, yet stern when he needed to be, and I cannot imagine having a better dad. He not only was one of our biggest cheerleaders, he was always there to encourage us and help us when we needed. He most certainly was not perfect, but even in his less than perfection he was quick to admit this to us, which looking back I think made him an even better dad. He taught us humility and the importance of service. His life was always marked by putting other people above himself.
About six years ago, tragically my dad began a journey of battling with dementia. It started off subtle and really slow but as the years have passed this disease has seemed to make permanent residency in the home of my dad’s brain. My dad is only 67 years old. His body is in nearly as good of shape as it has ever been. However, his brain continues to be taken over by this stupid disease. Dementia is such a stupid idiotic disease. There is no reason for it and it is completely senseless. Nobody knows why or where it comes from. Throughout my entire lifetime I watched my dad give of himself over and over again to people, some of whom gave back but many who ended up using him and taking advantage of him. It never seemed to matter with my dad though. He never held a grudge and was always quick to help anyone and everyone. And now as he lives into the latter part of his life he is left with a brain that does not function like it is supposed to.
Yesterday our family was celebrating father’s day together with my parents and all my siblings and nieces and nephews. We were playing a game and my dad was sitting off to the side until he finally interjected and tried to say something. My dad has always been good at creating pause in groups and bringing us to a place of deep reflection and meaningful conversation. As he struggled to string words together he tried to communicate how difficult it continues to be for him to communicate and how he wants to be part of conversations and activities the family is doing but he does not know how anymore. Watching and listening to him struggle wrecked me. My dad was broken and literally unable to do what his soul so longs to do. The mood of the room quickly changed from laughter to seriousness as we all realized there was nothing we could say that could ease the pain or the hurt. Dementia is really stupid. Grief hit us all hard.
Trying to fight back tears I opened my mouth and began to share back to my dad some of my observations. Having a dad that not only was proud of me, but was quick to let me know has given me a confidence and a security to be able to show up in the world more authentically and with a great courage. But he has also lived with a contentment that I am still trying to find in my own life. I reflected back on the time when my dad and I first climbed Mt. Hood. About halfway up I began to distance myself from him and the other guys in our group. At some point I waited for them a while and nobody showed up. I assumed they all had turned back. I remember approaching the hogback section of the climb and realizing that at this point there was nothing that was going to stop me from making the final push. There was just one final ascent to the summit. I kept pushing and ended up making my first summit that day. Over twenty five years later I still remember vividly what happened next. I came down from the summit and I saw my dad standing on the hogback waiting for me. I was excited and was ready to go back up to the summit with him. He looked at me calmly and said “It’s alright, I do not need to summit the mountain today.” We walked back down to the car together, living to fight another day. I did not understand. That day my dad was more than content to simply watch me climb to the top of the mountain than to climb himself. He was proud of me, and always has been.
Just a few years after that experience my dad and I were able to climb Mt St Helens together along with a group of college students. My dad was one of the first to make it to the top that time. I remember thinking how proud I was to have him as my dad. Some of the other guys in the group just raved about how much of a beast my dad was. That day he made it. And while he seemed pretty happy, he did not seem that much more happy than when he had turned around on Mt Hood.
Since then my dad has reached the summit of a number of different mountains. But there have also been times when he turned around and did not summit. Last year, as I turned around short of reaching the summit of Mt Hood for one of the first times ever I thought about my dad. It felt like in some ways I was finally becoming like him. Not because I failed, but because I did not need to be successful. I ended up going back up a few weeks later and made the summit, but as I have reflected on it I was more proud of being able to turn around than I was at making the summit. It was this experience that gave me a glimpse into the life my dad has always lived.
As my dad continues to travel this new journey, he does so in the same way he always has anything else, with a heart that continues to be focused on others instead of himself. His life continues to be one that is marked by surrender and he has fully embraced the powerlessness over what is happening to him. His faith in a God that is bigger than he or his disease continues to grow as he finds solace living more fully in the kingdom of God that Jesus came and introduced us to. Although it is harder than anything he has ever done, my dad has seemed to figure out a contentment, peace, and joy that I continue to try and find.
It still really sucks watching my dad’s brain get chewed up and spat out by this stupid disease. And while the knowledge seems to be dissipating the thing I am noticing is that it appears his great wisdom is still present. My dad stumbled up a life that was worth living years before I ever came around and while he is unable to contribute to the world around him in ways that is celebrated and honored, he still possesses a wisdom that is beyond this world. And more than ever I continue to want to be more like him.
