Before

These are photos of my dad’s study in his house up in Tennessee.  I took them last month before I started dismantling it.  The photos were a last minute brainstorm, and one which I’m grateful I had.  Before I started removing items that I or my children might want, some of which I brought back and some of which I’m keeping in a storage unit up there, I realized that this room  – an addition to the house – was so important to my dad and such a powerful memory for all of us, it would be a shame not to have a record of his pride and joy:

As you can see much of what engaged my dad was politics.  He was a political scientist and a collector of political items.  The second of  my older sons, who is a political and history fiend himself,  would like to have those items but isn’t in a place right now to actually take them – hence the storage for a while , until he is more settled.

My dad died three months ago today (the 14th) and I have spent some time since going back and forth trying to take care of things (I am an only child – it’s all mine. Which is not as great as it sounds especially when you don’t want much of it and you’re handling it all alone without a spouse of your own for support and assistance.)

And I will spend more time in the next few months doing the same.  It won’t be over for a while.

Isn’t it interesting considering my recent interest in estate sales? I think so.

Much food for thought here.  About what’s worth having faith in and what’s not.  About what we cling to.  About what we overcome and then what we are overcome by.  About what we can’t let go of.  About how we change and the contrast between youth and old age between high hopes and sober realities.  About what we construct to represent ourselves.   It’s sobering but also energizing.

I saw my dad a week before he died.  He was in the hospital in bad shape, and seeing him I didn’t think he would be alive in five years but nor did I think he would die the following week.

My oldest son, who was probably the grandchild closest to him, made the trip up from Atlanta.  He had vacillated, having originally planned to come up the following weekend but upon hearing that we were coming deciding to make a quick trip.

How grateful he is for that intuition that pushed him north that day.

For as I said my father was struggling.  His wife Hilary was faithfully and valiantly at his side as she remained during the entire illness up until the very end.   It was hard, especially for her, but as I said, none of us expected how quickly it actually went after that week.

What I will always remember is this.

As I said ,my father and my oldest son were close.  Chris lived with him and my mother off and on while he was in college – in between apartments and so on.  Besides – he was the first grandchild.  They had known each other for almost thirty years.

And that Saturday afternoon, even as my father struggled , even as I often doubted he was all there, he showed that when he was there..he was.

He roused himself and said to Chris…tell me about your new pad..

For Christopher had recently moved into a new apartment.

He asked him about his finances…as he always did. Always concerned.

And then Chris, trying to find something to talk about, turned of course to sports.  It being October in Knoxville he started talking about the Vols. About the coach, Derek Dooley.

Amy… my dad said, his eyes barely open, his whole face slack and weakened..Amy…I want you to get me a pair of orange trousers

I thought..okay. He’s lost it. Because I wasn’t in on the joke.

But  Chris was and he started laughing and my dad murmured..I’m serious.

And I think I saw him try to smile.

Chris and I have talked several times since about that conversation.  About how even in his weakened state that conversation was exactly like every other conversation the two of them would have…Chris’ life..his career…his finances…the Volunteers…

About how grateful we are for that glimmer. To the extent he was there..he was completely there. It was exhausting for him, but right then, he gave the gift of himself one more time. It hurt, but he gave.

So…retreat or gift?

What will it be for us, today?

What, then, will it be?