Did I Matter?

I went over my dad's last night. I've been trying to see him almost every day, even if it's just for a short visit, because I can see him slipping. He's 89 and still living on his own, by choice: the last bastion of his independence. We sit in the living room with the TV on, and he often is sleeping in his recliner while I'm there, so I tidy up and clean things when he snoozes.

Because of some of the things he says, I know he's examining his life so often these days, wondering if he's made a difference, if he mattered. He's had such a hard life - financial struggles, the death of my brother at 21, dealing with my mom's emotional issues and passing, cancer, kidney disease, major hearing loss...he hasn't caught many breaks. But he's always pushed ahead, and he frequently looks for the single ray of light to make himself feel better about a situation. From time to time, I write letters to my father about what he's meant to us, and how I've learned from watching him, and how he's been the best father we could have wished for. He loves that, and because I can't be sure he can hear all that I say anymore, it's a good way for me to communicate with him, so he takes in every word I want to say.

He grew up in a home that was always short on resources: to a certain extent, money equaled success.  I remember the first time I brought over some Amstel light, he said, "This is the kind of beer rich people drink." (You've got to love that!) Like many parents, he wants to leave his kids something of value. He keeps giving me things, like coins he's saved that he thinks will be worth something someday, or silver serving pieces that have been in his basement for years. He buys lottery tickets twice a week - has for years - because he so desperately wants to leave us all something significant. Of course that doesn't matter to me and my sisters. We just wish he would win, any amount, so that he would feel lucky. 

The older I get, the more I see how much like my dad I am. I never used to think so, because I was always such a bleeding heart, and he was pretty gruff for most of my "formative years." But it's so clear now that I get my own temper (and temperament) mostly from my father. I got the quickly rising anger, the impatience, the nagging feeling of inferiority, the somewhat wary nature, the pride that goeth before a fall. But I also inherited the ability to multi-task with amazing results, the strong work ethic, the dedication to family, the delight in efficiency, the desire to make others' journeys a little easier, the need to prepare and be ready for whatever might come, the generosity...and the love. 

My father's asking so many of the same questions I ask myself these days as I travel on the flip side of fifty years: Have I mattered? Did I make a difference? Did I do the right things with my life? Some days I don't think so, and other days I think I did, and am doing, exactly what I was supposed to. I hope, when all is said and done, my father thinks he did, too.

© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie