Silence Echos: The "T" Word

November 14, 2008

The "T" Word

Another little fact that most people don't know about me is I make my bed everyday. And every morning when I am doing it I have the same conversation in my head about the process. "Why in the world are you making the bed? It's not like anybody ever sees it one way or another. This really is an exercise in futility." That is the internal dialogue every morning. I always grapple with the question "why make it if you are just going to get back into it in about 15 hours?" So why do I continue to make my bed? For a long time I think I did it because I am a neurotic neat nick: Everything must be in its place. I also like the way it looks when I come home at the end of the day; it is a bit of reassurance that there is a small corner of the universe that I have control of and it is in order. Those are some of the reasons I compulsively make my bed each morning, but just recently I began to make it for a totally different reason.

There is someone else I know that is also a compulsive bedmaker- my dad. Everyday, even if he is on vacation my dad makes his bed. I think I must have got it from him. My dad and I are alike in quite a few compulsive idiosyncratic ways. Neither of us likes tomato sauce on anything, but we both love Bloody Mary's. And we absolutely must have a watch. If we forget to put on our watch(which rarely ever happens) then we are upside down for the rest of the day. We both love almonds and read while we watch TV and neither one of us suffers fools gladly. It is so strange the things that are passed along in our genetic coding.

Just recently my family found out that my dad has prostrate cancer. The "C" word has suddenly become very real. I have had so many different responses when I have shared with people what is going on. For the record let me say that I think that the first response one should give when told that someone has cancer is- "How terrible for your Dad. I am sorry." What I have heard that doesn't really work for me is "Oh prostrate cancer that is the best kind of cancer to have- if you have to have cancer." This is usually followed by some story about a random uncle or cousin that sailed through the surgery and is just fine.

I am a smart person I know all the statistics and the prognosis with early detection. But there is more than just the "C" word at play here- there is the "T" word - TIME. With this diagnosis comes the realization that I don't have all the time in the world to spend with my dad. And growing up in a divorced family and my dad living 800 miles away I haven't had enough time. I am just beginning to realize how alike he and I really are. This has been a comfort to me in the last couple of years, and makes me feel less alone in the world. I finally begin to understand where I came from so to speak. So to think that my time with him is limited scares me in a way I have never been scared before.

When I got the news about my dad, I didn't know how to feel, all the above emotions hadn't sorted themselves yet. I was at loose ends. I was in desperate need for someone I love and trust to hug me and tell me things would be ok, no one was around; I had to default to other means of comfort. I don't do drugs anymore, and I have given up carbs, so I bought myself a cashmere sweater, actually two sweaters. Which hasn't really worded out to well because every time I put on either one I think to myself "I bought this sweater because my dad has cancer." But at the time a good cashmere sweater for forty bucks gave me the release of serotonin that I needed. Anyway ... as I wandered in the mall carrying my sweater, an old Bonnie Rait song, "Nick of Time", was playing.

Verse II
--------
I see my folks, they're getting old, I watch their bodies change...
I know they see the same in me, And it makes us both feel strange...
No matter how you tell yourself, It's what we all go through...
Those eyes are pretty hard to take when they're staring' back at you.
Scared you'll run out of time.

Chorus
------
When did the choices get so hard?
With so much more at stake.
Life gets mighty precious when there's less of it to waste.
Hummmm...Scared she'll run out of time.

I realized that's exactly me: I'm scared I will run out of time.

A couple of weeks ago when I was making my bed, I had the realization that my dad was probably making his too. Suddenly the bed making was no longer an exercise in futility, rather it became a shared experience, and it has become my daily devotional. As I pull and straighten and tuck and fluff I pray. I pray for health and wholeness for my dad, and I pray that I won't run out of time.

Posted at 10:18 AM | Permalink

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Comments

Am very sorry to hear about what your dad is going through, and then for you, too. I understand about feeling like you're running out of time with your dad. I felt that way with mine, and made the hard choice to move closer to him, to spend what time with him that I could. He lived across country, so frequent visits weren't an option. Although it may have altered the course of my life, I look back and at least can say I made an attempt to mend and restore our relationship. It's admirable you have a relationship with him, and care so much about him. I am sure he knows how much you love him and desire to be there with him.
It's interesting about the bed making: it sort of mirrors my oldest daughters relationship with her mom. I think you have good insight. She (my daughter) finds your writing above...interesting (in a good way).
Saying "I'm praying for you" sounds hackneyed or trite, but it comes from a broken heart, and now I know a little better about how it might help. I hope you'll keep writing as you can and include updates, and that you are doing as well as possible.
Somewhere between 'sleeping in the Garden' and being 'hasty and missing the way' is where I want to be.

Posted by: Guest | November 18, 2008 at 06:02 AM