Quiet weekend

In the beginning of the summer, BC (before cancer), Scott and I planned to take the girls camping to Blue Mound State Park this weekend. I didn't want them to miss out on the fun, so I sent Scott with the girls to camp while I stayed home with Dad. He's still on the road to recovery, but it's slow-going.

Physically, he can walk and has good balance, but it seems like he's aged 15 years in terms of his coordination and capabilities. For Bill, a man who lives by the joys of physical labor and activities, this is frustrating. Dad and I had a lot of time to talk this weekend. We ordered sushi Friday night and I made a dish from farmers' market food Saturday night, and we ate our meals under the red bud tree on Adirondack chairs in the backyard. Now, I look out the window at these chairs and will always remember them as "our place." Dad really opened his heart during our meals. We laughed about the past, Dad expressed his gratitude to me, Heather, Linda, Scott and so many others, and he mourned about getting this disease and what it's doing to his body and mind.

I would think that Dad would be most upset by the snail-slow pace of physical recovery. But I think he feels that he can slowly build his strength, and he's okay with that. He's more hurt by his speech impediment. The right words just won't always take that path from his brain to his mouth. He can communicate, and I think he does a fine job! But often he'll used the wrong word or say something that doesn't make sense. Under the red bud tree, it became apparent that this really upsets him and he doesn't want, as he said, "People to think I'm dumb." I tried to tell him that none of his friends think he's dumb, and in fact most people are impressed at how far he's come. "I know, I know," he said, with me adding, "Dad, you're allowed to be sad about this. It's rough." He's spent so much time being positive, I was glad to see him share his fears and sadness.

Dad and I have had a lovely weekend. Went to the farmers' market together, took nice walks in the pleasant evenings, hugged and told each other how happy we were to be together. But it was also a time of grief and reflection as we finally sat down together and thought, "How the hell did we get here?" Brain cancer. Only three short months ago life was smooth and good.

On Friday I got a letter from Karen in Georgia, a dear from of Dad and Mom's from way back. She sent a heartfelt note that brought me strength. She also sent three old pictures. In the first, I am a new baby lying on my back in a cloth diaper, clenching a chubby fist, with a grand smile and fat cheeks. A second picture shows another baby Lisa with a more sober (and funny!) look, swinging in one of those rickety old wooden baby swings, wearing a bonnet and booties. In the third picture, Karen's 2-year-old son stands next to my Dad, who is sitting on the floor holding me. In a sky-blue shirt, Dad's giving a mustache smile with his healthy hair sweeping across his forehead. Looking at those photos, I was in awe at the changes that occur in almost 40 years, but when MJ saw the last picture she sweetly said, "Grandpa looks the same!" Gotta love kids.

Before the kids left to go camping, MJ came outside where Dad and I were sitting and cried that her pink Mary Jane Croc broke. She held up the dirty shoe, and I was about ready to say, "Those have seen their last days, MJ." But Dad said,"Let me try to fix it." I thought there was no way...the plastic strap was ripped from its hole. But Bill got out his knife and with shaky hands, cut a new hole then put the strap back together. During the Croc surgery, MJ and I were both crossing our fingers, quietly watching him. As minutes went by we saw that he would be able to fix it. Never underestimate Bill!