On Wednesday, April 11, we enrolled my Dad in hospice. This would be sadder if he were happier.
My father is a good man, an honorable man, a responsible man, a modest man (probably a true hero, with multiple decorations from World War II where he served, among other places, at the Battle of the Bulge; he never wanted to talk much about the war, especially his role in it). But if he found any joy in life, any contentment, any peace, I missed it. He was always more focused on his duties and responsibilities, doing what he thought and believed was expected of him.
He took pride in his work and career, spent almost entirely with Monsanto, back in the day when people loyally worked for one company their entire careers. (For those of us who bemoan the fact that companies no longer seem to value their long-term employees, maybe there was evidence of what was to become when he was essentially pushed out the door and into retirement at a time when he felt he still had something to offer besides his unwavering commitment to Monsanto.) Perhaps he even took pleasure in the time he spent at work. Still, I’m not convinced that even his work was much more than duty, another job to be done with pride and as well as he could.
Because he took all his jobs (husband, father, son, employee, etc.) seriously, he was successful at all of them, if you define success in black and white terms. I have no doubt he loved us, as best he could. If that love gave him any joy or pleasure, however, once again, I missed it, because he gave what he could but had not the ability to accept it in return. I even think he wanted love to be more pleasurable, more joyous. He tried, but I think it was either beyond him or insulated by so many walls and barriers that he ultimately had to settle, settle for, I don’t know, something less. I think he knew he was missing something, but couldn’t just accept what he couldn’t comprehend. To this day he never seemed to consider himself worthy.
The point of this is not to generate pity for either him nor or any of us, especially me. When my Mom died, I was sad for her because I felt, for the first time, in those last few months, that she had finally discovered the joy of unconditional love, especially the joy of giving it. It came almost too late, but I’d have been even sadder for her had she died without ever experiencing those feelings; my sadness now is only that she had so few months to share that joy. I’m sad for my father because, if I'm right, I’m afraid he’ll die without knowing those feelings at all.
This is a man who once told me, “Happiness is over-rated.” I’m sure he believed that. I know that I just confused him with my “joie de vivre.” He never understood how I could think the way I do, see life the way I do. And every effort I made to explain it fell on deaf ears and a closed mind, hardly fertile soil for any kind of epiphany. He was incapable of truly appreciating the remarkable life he had. Intellectually, he knew it, of course. He understood that he was his own American success story, putting himself through college, establishing a career, firmly entrenching himself in the middle class, and passing those advantages to his four sons.
He knew he was blessed, but emotionally, he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t savor it, much less enjoy it. He was a Methodist, but there, too, I found no evidence that his faith and religion brought him any peace or contentment. Really, he was a Puritan, judging his life, and those around him, in the stark colors of black and white (even shades of grey made him uncomfortable), with everyone (himself included) always failing to measure up. So focused was he on flaws (his own and others) that he could neither accept nor understand those who saw life painted with a brighter palette. The concept of love that works for me requires those multiple colors because it requires we accept others and ourselves as we are, with all of our flaws and strengths and joys balancing each other as part of a vibrant picture.
As I sit here, thinking about watching him struggle to draw his last breaths, I am thankful for the advantages he gave me, the love he tried so hard to understand and give but could not accept. I think he knows that I offered it. I hope that’s enough. I guess it will have to be.
