Yesterday being the first day of warm weather of the season, we all had spring fever. My father had not been out of his hospital bed in our living room for about three weeks (minus a four-step assisted transfer to a rocking chair), so my sister Jillian proposed the impossible: that dad should sit out in the backyard. Jillian, full of confidence that dad would be as excited as herself, leaned down to dad's ear and asked ' how would you like to sit out in the sun?'. Dad opened both eyes fully (very rare) smiled and said: 'I'd love it'. As if he was thinking it all along but didn't dare bring it up because of the awkwardness of the whole procedure. It took an entourage of six people, a wheeled computer chair, and a lot of enthusiasm, but we got him outside.
It was so worth it.
Once we had him all arranged with support blankets and pillows on his chair outside, we were all mesmerized by the look of sheer joy and appreciation on his face. He just kept whispering: 'beautiful, just beautiful'. We all prayed (sung!) the Chaplet of Divine Mercy (quickly becoming a family favourite) and then sat in silence. I can't fully describe how light we all felt. We were certain that there were no other people in town who were savoring the day like we were. We were all thinking the same thing, and no one shied away from becoming slightly emotional. I will NEVER forget that afternoon. I know exactly what spring smells like, now..I took special note when I saw dad taking special note. At first I thought that taking him outside might be in some ways cruel, because fair weather sometimes has a way of taunting those who are underneath of it. Sunny days present a carefree feeling that few people have ever fully known. No matter what it always seems that we are not quite taking full advantage of the beauty of the day, at least I feel personally that I am lacking when faced with so much blue sky. But this day was different. I heard everything, and smelled everything in the high sun of yesterday afternoon...from here on, whenever I feel spring coming and sense its efforts to lift up my head, I will lift up my head and I will always let my mind's eye return to the look of peace on my father's face.
Not to mention we let him drink a quarter of a beer...very important point. We are Irish Catholics, after all. Then he asked us one more favor: that we would take him for a drive out to our cottage on Island Pond lake. My father has just come to finish building the most beautiful cottage I have ever seen, but then I know I am admittedly biased. When he was first diagnosed (Christmas day, 2001--the milestones in his cancer walk are noteworthy as I think we will continue to see...) dad started to build ' his dream cottage' with a few of his friends. Dad studied electrical, construction basics, plumbing--you name it, in order to build this place. Every square inch of that cottage was engineered and built by my father's own hands.
Even though we were all seeing the beginnings of a grimace from muscle spasms and inevitable neuropathic pain, we knew that since we came this far, we needed to make the drive out to Island Pond..to let him see the cottage for what we knew was probably the last time.
The lake was so stark looking-the water was slate grey with parts still wearing a thin layer of ice..the sky closely matched in its icy blue tone. We just sat there in silence with the occasional compliment on dad's work. We all feel that though it is the family cottage, it is dad's first. It will always be his...
We got back to the house, loaded him onto the computer chair, wheeled him to his bed and got him settled in.
Mom: What a day, Robert. Sunshine, prayer, fresh fruit (we had some on his bed afterwards), a drive and even beer. It doesn't get much better than that.
Dad: Yep. Life is lovely...God is so good.
Mom: You know, when you get there, God will say 'well done, Robert'
Dad: and I'll say 'Thanks. You didn't too bad yourself.'
My dad is my hero.
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