Monday, June 03, 2013
Papa's new perspective
I only just noticed, now that it's on the big screen, that my dad is holding a dandelion, or two, in his hand in these pictures. I'm quite sure he didn't actually bend down to pick them, but Isla, his grandflowerchild, gave them to him as an offering of love and kindness and, I'm guessing, respect.
Their affection is mutual and not remotely affected by the fact that my father's short-term memory has been riddled by the degenerative effects of Alzheimer's.
In fact, my dad is more on the level of his grandchildren than ever before. More able to be and stay in the moment, each moment as it comes to him in steady increments, unfurling like a ball of string he's released from his own hand. He has no agenda, at least not an inflexible one. He's always free to engage, to detain, to entertain. The perfect Grandpa.
There is no longer any pesky recent past to mull over and stew and discover regrets about. A blessing and a curse.
Be here now.
He is my walking Bhudda, gratitude- master of a dad. Stopping, always stopping, to remember what's gone right in his life, smelling the apple blossoms, accept the Dandelion bouquets, and comment on the pervasive green, the teeming perfection, that surrounds him.
Content to admire the miracle of trees that have been here, rooted deep, as long as he has-- standing straight and present, the model of persistence, in the woods, meadows, and hillsides he calls his own.