Labouring (with Love) on Labour Day

I started off thinking I might rest and relax today, but decided instead to do a chore that has been on my list for months now which I have been putting off for one reason or another.  It was time to sort through my father's belongings. 

My father was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia two years ago, and he is still living, but he is in a nursing home where many of his personal belongings are not required, or there is no space for them.  I have finally come to the realization that there is not going to be any miracle cure and he won't be coming back here to live with me again.  After a year I still feel a great deal of sadness and guilt for not being able to personally provide him with the care he requires.  I am very grateful that he is well looked after by the caring nurses and volunteers at the home.

I know I have been putting it off because I did not feel up to dealing with the decisions of what to keep and what to give away.  It was an emotional few hours looking though the mementos my father has kept over the years.  Lots of cards and letters from me and my siblings as well as his many friends, and many pictures of his grandchildren.  My father is well admired by many people for his intelligence, his gentle demeanour, and his open mind and this was evident in the amount of correspondence as well as his very full address book.

I also found a journal which he seems to have kept for years.  I did not read it, but opened it to look at his beautiful penmanship which I have always admired.  Seeing his journal reminded me of one of my favourite movies The Bridges of Madison County where the adult children discover that their mother had had a love affair that they had never known about.  I am certain if I read my father's journal I would not discover that my father had a wild love affair, but I might gain some insight into what led him to the life he chose to lead the past 35 years. He had a path he felt strongly that he needed to follow and he did.  I admire that.  Not to be morbid, but I wonder what insights into me my children will discover by sorting through my belongings when it is time for them to do the same thing.  We are never completely known by anybody, not even those closest to us, and sometimes not even to ourselves. 

And so my chore is complete and I feel better for not having it hanging over my head any more and ready to let go of the feeling that I wasn't able to do enough to look after him.

Love you Dad.

Me and Dad on his 78th birthday Sept. 1, 2011