Plowing

I'm with Dad in Ohio. The girls and I flew in on Sunday. We climbed the skies over Madison to look down at a white blanket across Wisconsin. We descended in Cleveland over a bleak, brown landscape. But last night and today the snow fell and brightened things up around here.

Even though Dad's doing well, re-entry into his world is always a bit of a shock. This whole situation still seems surreal. I can't help but think back 8 months when Dad and Linda came to Madison for Easter. Dad installed French doors in my office, we tooled around town, life was good. Then on May 2, I was at my computer doing some work. It was a Sunday. Scott had taken the kids to church and to run errands. He suddenly burst in on my peaceful moment and said, "Your dad had a stroke." Linda had called him. Of course the rest is history -- we learned it wasn't a stroke, it was brain cancer. Two brain surgeries, rounds of radiation and chemo, seizures, hospitals, Dad's move to Madison, tears, a long list of medications, doctors and nurses and therapists ... Did this all really happen?

It must have, because Dad has aged about 30 years since April.

Today Dad had a good day. His pain from the cracked rib was minimal, he was in a decent mood and his speech and comprehension were at about a 75 percent. I know, I should be glad. But, like I said, re-entry is tough. Instead, today I couldn't help but focus on how much things have changed. This morning we took the kids to Toys 'R Us to spend their gift cards from Linda. HUGE treat for the girls. They wanted Grandpa to come help them find their loot, but he didn't even want to join us. The pre-May Bill would always be up for any activity with his girls -- even shopping! I had to practically force him to ride along. Then we get in Linda's Prius and dumb me forgot how to turn it on without using a key. It's strange enough that I'm the driver with auto-man Bill as passenger, but Dad couldn't quite remember how to run this car either. Pre-May Bill lived for cars, took them apart and put them back together, tinkered with engines as if they were toys.

It's just little things like this that illustrate the big losses. But even among the wreckage, you can still see bright spots ...

We got about 5 inches of snow, so I offered to plow Dad's driveway, which is long and large. Pre-May Bill wouldn't have dreamed of having me invade his space and take over his chores. But Dad just said, "Sure, go ahead." So I put on Dad's Carhartts and Linda's work boots, tromped in the snow to the barn and found the plow. The tractor wouldn't start but I knew from Dad's (nagging) lessons that I had to use the choke. Got it running, brought it up to the garage, and Dad put air in the front left tire. Started plowing and got stuck. "Go get the chains. You need the chains," Dad said. So back to the barn to look for the chains, which I couldn't find. Dad found them and brought them up to the garage. I jacked up the back of the tractor as Dad tried to explain how to put chains on the wheels. Between the two of us, we did it. Mostly I did it, with Dad's direction.

Then I plowed the whole damn driveway. And I was proud of myself. Dad stood in the garage watching me for the longest time. When I finished he laughed and said, "Lisa, you did it! You did great!" That's what made me proud, my Dad telling me that I did something well. You're never too old to be patted on the back by a parent. The rest of the day he smiled at me and mentioned how neat it was to see me plowing. "Lisa, I am impressed."

What was once second nature to him is now impossible, yet he's still such a great man that he's able to applaud me for doing a half-ass job.

So while I mourned the loss of that pre-May Bill, I was also grateful to have any kind of Bill. He may not be plowing driveways or driving me around in the snow or doing all the many manly things he used to do, but he's still an amazing man to me, and I love him.