Routine

Routine:

we have a nice routine down, caring for my dad - what once seemed so difficult in task and detail is now simply what the morning holds. I've grown accustomed to it, and even more, have come to find it as a display of love, a ritual of deep care and mindful note of the time left between us. There is no promise of another morning. Each moment arrives fragile, tender, and I am gifted with the role of giving care. I take none of this for granted. 

a little over a month a go, 94 and strong despite some health concerns, my father still walked with the aid of a cane, moved freely about the house with confidence and worked out daily. He had congestive heart failure but we managed to keep the worst at bay. No longer. Of four stages of this disease he's now at number three, using oxygen and wheelchair, unable to do much of what was easy just weeks before. He is amazingly optimistic even as he faces the uncertainty of his future. 

perhaps it's due to the nearness of death - we do have that certainty, a definite presence that makes clear our time is fragile. My father's optimism is based not on beating death for just another moment, but to focus on right now, what it means to be alive, tending to this precious gift. Death makes itself known through his higher pulse and difficult breath, painfulness of steps, and in so many detailed ways. There's no escape from it and it's presence is now accepted as a guest. 

part of my routine is to knowledge this; an early reminder that my dad wakes with the grace of another day and I've a ritual to attend to. Death is near, especially so each morning as I approach my father's room, uncertain of what the night might have taken. It gathers my attention, sharp, clear, immediate in my concern. Part of my routine has been to greet death at the bedroom doorway, recognizing this threshold I'm about to cross, from uncertainty to the fragile certain of another moment given. It's not so frightening anymore, having a guest that is as much my own visitor as it my fathers. My routine is now joined by its presence, it accompanies throughout the day, reminding me of the threshold of every moment. Death urges me to treat life gently, with ease, and true concern for what matters. 

a valued guest, indeed. 

~

Peace, Eric