Dad’s Hands are Still Strong
I was the last person I would expect to be taking care of my father – I have/had issues!
At 85, dad is moving slower, forgetting more, remembering more, mellower and even more set in his ways at times.
We just moved from the Bay Area of California to Petoskey, Michigan – way “Up North”, as they say here. The 2565-mile drive seemed to fly by – for me. I was surprised at how much time dad was alert and taking in the scenery.
When we arrive in Petoskey, dad stayed at my sister’s for a week while we waited for the furniture to arrive from Danville, CA. Dad was still suffering from the effects of a bout with shingles that had left him lethargic. The drive seemed to have worn him out a bit, too.
A few days after we arrived, I found myself lying in bed next to dad and talking about how he was feeling – the move, changes, getting older, health, attitude, emotions, etc. As I laid there talking, I reached over and took his hand in mine.
I’m taller than my dad, weigh more than he did, broader shoulders, stronger (we can argue about better looking), but his hand still seem bigger to me. I was startled to still feel the amount of strength in that hand – which brought tears to my eyes (who is this person in my body? where are my long-cherished issues? I’m confused at times!)
A father’s bigness and strength are something we need and long for as children – and something we also fear at times. I have specific memories of those hands – watching them work and getting the occasional smack.
My sister remembers being about 3 years old and dad washing her hands – how dad’s hands engulfed her tiny little hands and how gentle they were as they lathered her hands.
I have no memory of dad’s gentle hands – except this new memory of this strong, gentle hand I was holding while talking to this father that I seem to be getting to know just a little bit more each passing day.