The Last Visit

Was that the last visit?

Our last visit ever?

I don't know. Nobody knows. 

I flew home from San Diego last October, asking myself if I would ever see my dad again? 

My father will soon be ninety-two and lives in San Diego. I live in Portland. I visit six or seven times yearly, but it never feels adequate. Some visits go smoothly, while others are difficult. I never know beforehand how things will unfold. It's much like a box of chocolates. Just over a year ago, I was working on mortality math. It's pretty simple and roughly at a ninth-grade level. I strongly recommend a brush-up course for all my friends caring for aging parents. The question before my sister and I was: Do we buy the electric scooter for $3,500 or rent it for $235 monthly? Translation: how much longer will our beloved father live, and what are the financial implications? How crazy is that? My dad is still a vibrant soul at ninety-one, with most of his marbles fully intact. His mobility is quite limited, but he gets around surprisingly well.

Meanwhile, his son is gambling as if it’s a Vegas casino. Should I bet that he will live for another few years…or should I view the actuarial tables and bet against my dad? It's a terrible predicament that so many people are facing these days. It's also ironic because my dad has already outlived the actuaries. He is beating the house in his tenth decade.

We made the difficult decision to move my dad from independent living to assisted living a year ago. He went from living in a two-bedroom bachelor pad hosting cocktail parties to a one-room box with limited space and just a few family heirlooms. His playing field got much smaller. We had no choice. It was time. Explaining that reality to my dad was one of the most challenging discussions of my life. The circle of life marches forward and doesn't care if the family is prepared.

Sadly, most of my father's close friends have died in recent years. Even his new friendships, made in the past year, are passing away. It sucks, but he's the one still kicking at ninety-one. He is a living example of out-kicking your coverage. His days are filled with activities and social engagement, but he still lives mainly in a solitary world. His favorite pastime has become shopping on Temu. Temu is a Chinese website that sells cheap crap at a price he can't resist. Hats, socks, polyester shirts with animals; you name it, and he is buying it. Last month, he spent over $1,000. He gives it all to his fellow residents, providing him immense joy. He's always been a people person, and sharing and spreading happiness is his greatest strength.

Living a thousand miles away has never been ideal, but I haven't lived in the same state as my dad for thirty years. I left him long ago to begin my adventure and raise my own family. I often feel lost in two classic songs: Stuck between Harry Chapin and Cat Stevens. Cats in the Cradle vs. Father & Son. I'm the son in Chapin's epic song. "I'm gonna be like you, Dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.” Conversely, in Father & Son, I have become the father. "I was once like you are now, and I know it's not easy." Two songs from opposing ends of the fatherhood spectrum, and I see myself in each. They speak to me profoundly and stir intense feelings of days long past.

Strangely, as these songs play in my head and the years continue to race by, I'm beginning to ask the same question of myself and my son and daughter: Will this be our last visit? I'm only in my mid-fifties, but I may buy the farm first.

Like so many friends my age, I'm stuck in the middle of a giant shit sandwich, and there's no escape. On one hand, I'm doing my best caring long distance for my father, and on the other hand, I'm trying to successfully launch my adult children into this crazy and chaotic world. With my dad, I want to provide comfort, and companionship. I wish him peace, solace, and deep pride in a life well-lived. With my children, I hope to have instilled confidence, curiosity, and compassion. My greatest hope is that they find their passion and pursue it with abandon.  

All the while, I can't help but think of my own stage of life as I approach fifty-seven in a few months. Have I been a good son? Have I told my father thank you enough? Does he know what a tremendous influence he has had on my life? We haven't always had the best relationship. It's been very rocky at times. Does he truly know how much I love him? I'm pretty sure he does, but as the end nears, doubt still lingers.

Similarly, I wonder about my relationship with my children. Was I a loving and supportive father? Did I teach them strong values and the importance of kindness? Most importantly, do they realize how much I love and cherish them? They do, but the same doubt hovers over me.

I fly to San Diego this week for another three-day visit. It will be our first connection since October, and while three months is a short period, it feels much longer. My dad and I FaceTime daily, but the calls are quick and mostly superficial. I'm usually badgering him over his Temu addiction and poor taste in Chinese merch. Thankfully, he has perfected the fatherly art of blowing off his son. I must remind myself that it's his money, and he can do whatever he likes!

I hope this isn't our last visit, but it might be. I'm going to lead with love and gratitude. For all of his faults, I still have a fantastic father. I know this, and I want to ensure he knows it too.  My sister and I decided on the monthly scooter rental. When he blows out his birthday candles in April, it will officially be the wrong decision. Dad wins again.