Songs and Gifts

As many of you know, my dad has been in assisted care at The Aegis in Corte Madera for several years. About a year and a half ago, he was moved into a memory unit (“Life’s Neighborhood”), where they could cope more easily with his day to day care, medications and failing mental faculties. 

My sister, Kathy, took this photo on Dad's 91st birthday this year.
She commented that he "looks happy in his own thoughts."

It has been a difficult time for him. At first, he was the most “with it” member of the Neighborhood and that frustrated him no end. Fortunately, his lady friend at The Aegis, Edna Engel, was able to visit him nearly every day.

Sadly, this spring he began his final decline. Just last week, Hospice of Marin called to say that his passing appeared imminent. Of course, we visited numerous times, but he seemed to be unaware of our presence and lost in his own world.

Last night, as I entered his room, I remarked again to myself how small he appeared in his bedclothes. Yet, in my mind’s eye, his aura was as large as ever. Even at the end, when he sometimes responded poorly to the attendants’ attempts to re-position him in bed, often rudely throwing his arms about, you couldn’t help but notice the man’s physical strength and presence.

I stayed with him for a couple of hours as he alternated between sleeping peacefully and scratching furiously at his skin (due to a build-up of uric acid in the blood from kidney failure) as if wanting to rid himself of the body that had ultimately failed him.

I sang him old-time songs from a book I found in his room (he used to have a wonderful voice that was noted by many at the Aegis) and mentally gave him permission to let go. When he became agitated, I found that if I placed my hand atop his head, it seemed to calm him. I think it helped Dad to know that someone was there. Then my wife, Pat, came and sat with us for a while until we finally said good-bye. I kissed him on his forehead and wished him well and a smooth passage. I didn’t think I would be seeing him again in this lifetime.

This morning, as I was out on one of my favorite bike rides, the Aegis called with news that my father, William Lorin Clark, born May 7, 1920, had died quietly at 10:00 am with a nurse by his side.

Though he had been slipping away for quite some time, I am still processing the concept that he is gone. After all, he was my Father, a role that he never relinquished during his life. Perhaps he would have been happier at times if he had learned how to be simply a friend, but that wasn’t in the cards. He was our Provider and Protector, from beginning to end. I can’t help think of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, and its message of unconditional love and sacrifice. If you have it in your collection of children’s books, take it out. If not, then borrow it from the library and read it with one or both of your parents in mind.

It seems, as the years pass by, that we allow these incredibly important people to become more and more irrelevant to us. Our lives diverge and we neglect to appreciate the gifts they have given us over the course of their lifetimes. As I sort through the pluses and minuses that were my legacy from from my father, I find myself lingering on all of the wonderful things this man gave me and I know that much of what is good about me is directly because of his influence. When my time comes, I hope my daughter will also be able to find a path through all of the contradictions that I have been, and come to the same conclusion.

But for now, all I can say is, thank you, Dad. I love you.