Serving the scholastic field hockey and lacrosse community since 1998

Dec. 25, 2014 — The meaning of love

I’m writing this from a couch outside of the room where my 92-year-old father is sleeping.

Ever since his August episode, he’s been spending his time with my brother and his wife up the river from where he has spent the last 37 years of his life.

He’s gotten progressively weaker; when I took him out for dumplings in September, his steps, I estimated, were about eight inches long. At Thanksgiving, his shuffling steps were maybe about two inches long.

When I got to the house day before yesterday, he couldn’t walk. He can barely stand without assistance. I had to almost wrestle him into a wheelchair in order to get him to the bathroom or to get him into bed.

Having watched the downward spiral of my mother before her death in 2011, I knew this was coming. And it’s here.

It’s been said that the true meaning of love is being able to do the right things and make the tough decisions when it comes to taking care of your family.

Today’s irony, when it comes to the so-called “sandwich” generation of adults with long-living parents, is that we give them the same kind of care as when our parents took care of me when I was a weak and helpless infant.

It’s hard to see my parents in this way, but that’s reality.


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