I’m working in my dad’s old shop, on my folk’s property with the trees that I’ve loved for more than half my life ❤️
My dad, the trees I belong to, they’re all here.
You said today that there is a new energy to my art,
But familiar.
And I knew instantly it was Dad you feel.
Every time I walk in the shop. Every time. I smell him and breathe deeply, trying to draw the smell of a machine shop and sweat and concrete deep within my very marrow.
I feel him like the trees outside. They who nod as I pass, singing them good morning with the sunrise.
I feel him there too, as I creak open the door, he is nodding at me from across the shop as he turns back to what he was working on.
Like so many times before.
In parallel universes now perhaps, he and I, circling one another.
Claiming a corner with our tools, both dancing to Jimmy Buffett on the radio.
It is quieter now,
But the walls will shout his intensity with pictures and airplane parts coated in sawdust.
And I will create, I will singe my very soul into every piece I touch because I’m surrounded by so much love that sometimes I think I will burst from aching and pining so deeply yet living so much joy
I keep thinking of when mom asked me to come check on him, that she thought he just died. I was working at home, but ran over next door.
He was so still in bed, his cheeks turning sallow already, and I just leaned over with my chest to his and listened to see if I could hear anything. There was no sound of breathing or heartbeat, and I kept desperately changing positions to try to listen at a different angle. But nothing.
I began to cry, trying to find any sounds. Then gave up, kept my head there and cried quietly, telling those around me that I couldn’t hear anything.
His face was so relaxed, he didn’t hurt or struggle, he just fell asleep. And I sobbed knowing I couldn’t hear his voice rumbling deep in his chest again.
He’s been doing nothing but sleeping since we had to start him on morphine yesterday. Hasn’t woken up or said any words. I don’t think he will wake again.
I still rub his head with the coconut lotion and dab a little on his nose. He doesn’t wake but he grins and relaxes. Mom tried getting him alert in the morning but he didn’t open his eyes or say anything back.
His feet are puffy and red, he’s not drinking water, but his breathing is constant and steady. He goes to his in home care on Weds but I don’t know if he will be here still by then.
Found a song I want to dance fire to. It popped up on Spotify while I was sanding in the shop, tracks wet through the sawdust on my cheeks.
He’s not able to walk to the bathroom today it seems. Waking confused and needing an explanation for what’s going on. Feet are puffy and sore, I keep on with the massages but he seems he has pins and needles in his toes, so I’m much more careful with softer touches.
Dad was supposed to go into his home this weekend but they can’t take him until Thursday. I don’t know if he will make it till then to be honest.
His brother Steve is here until Monday to spend time with him and he’s helped so much already. It’s just nice to have his super calm energy here. Out of the four brothers his is the gentlest heart, though his brother Matt is close behind.
My sister is flying down next week, but will drive down in an instant from Kentucky if we think he’s going.
Today I finished sanding mom’s custom mini bat, and hung it to dry. The resin has copper dust to add some weight, another layer of light blue, and some green powder sprinkling of stars. Working in the shop and dancing to music is a relief, just getting out and moving helps so much.
There really is none at time of quick decline. You get a good day and hope the next is too, feel you’ve earned it with a few bad ones.
Where he was walking two weeks ago without too much trouble now he is barely able to make it to the bathroom.
Each time he sits we wonder if this will be the time he can’t get up again.
Spent the past three nights over at their place as he’s gotten to where he wants to get up a few times a night. He was doing that pretty regularly but in the past three nights he’s stopped getting up as often.
Feels like just days ago Mom would catch him getting a “sippy” (shot glass) of scotch at 2am or even 9am. No harm in that, not like the booze would kill him. He’d open cookies or snacks at the kitchen counter, spilling cheerios and milk on the floors. Pain in the ass to clean up but now I miss the messes as he’s simply not capable of doing any of those things anymore.
He’s started in the past two days being much less comprehensible, coughing more, and today is seeing people in the room with him. Mom and I know it’s close, but we don’t know how close of course. Could be days or weeks, it’s impossible to tell.
His body is simply getting tired. It reminds me of the scene in Lord of the Rings when Theoden is old and weak. We can see him in there, under the sallow skin and weepy eyes. He’s just not as present as he used to be.
It feels like his mind is elsewhere but his body is keeping him rooted to the ground.
I still rub his head with coconut lotion because he’s a Parrot Head and it makes him think of the beach. Every day he leans his head back and soaks in my touch. Lately it’s been freezing hard here in central Texas and my fingers have been cold, and he gets a quick shiver. But they warm quickly, then I do his feet and calves and shins with some aloe vera lotion, put his socks on, and watch him doze off with a grin on his face. Unless his feet hurt that day, they’re swollen and puffy and he gets nerve pain now in his toes.
I’ve been working in his shop, cleaned out a little corner to set up my gear and speaker for music. I turn on the fire-spinning playlist I made for last year and add new songs to my 2025 list. I dance and sand wood pieces I’m working on and look at the walls around me, hung from floor to ceiling with tools, airplane parts, car parts. My shop will forever more have airplane parts tucked away in corners.
I will hear his voice singing along with Jimmy Buffett each time I first open the door.
I’ve not much in me to write. Today I work from my folk’s place as I insist that mom take time away from home. She is out for the day and I’ve stayed with pops, working in the back office. Today he hasn’t gotten up or stayed awake all day, been snoozing. Hasn’t touched his coffee or water or eaten, which is unlike him. He’s always loved his food!
I’ve let him rest but did wake him a few hours ago to say hi and ask if I can bring him anything. He didn’t wake very much, and said he didn’t need anything, and quickly fell back to sleep.
Yesterday he had three meals as well as snacks. Today he sleeps.
Don’t blame him really. His brother and son came to visit for several days last week and it was rough. Mom said the goodbyes were hard, I’m really glad I wasn’t here to see them. I would have lost it.
This is the last time they will see him living, and their visit felt like mourning far too early.
Good days and bad days, for him, for us, it’s a waiting game and just trying to keep him happy. He was grumpy this weekend because he had a hard time communicating, and his walking has declined dramatically. Muscle control is just getting harder and harder. His legs tremble as he walks, making it hard to walk. As he struggles to lift his leg to move forward the other one bearing the weight of him shakes. I don’t want to embarrass him so I try not to watch.
There is a weight in me that is waiting. The edge of it nudges from time to time like the shoulder of an unwelcome stranger on the subway. I stay busy because I am my father’s daughter and it’s how I stay sane.
Mom very understandably needs time away from the house (and I support it), so on days when she has Pilates I am going to their place to check on dad. Work breaks allow for it as I work from home thankfully.
When she went today I walked over during lunch to check on dad, and he was at the table enjoying pie and a tall glass of milk. Yummy cherry pie, he sat spooning it up from the container, listening to the radio. I went over to rub his shoulders and neck a bit as I used to when I was a child. He loved it so much when I was growing up that I’d happily spend a few mins each day just rubbing or walking on his back. In passing I’d squeeze his shoulders to wordlessly send love directly into his skin. Thanks to mom and dad I always was an affectionate kid. Hugs and cuddles, little hip bumps while cooking in the kitchen, saying that the room was full of “hippies”. Bad joke but still makes me giggle.
We’d go to Mazzio’s pizzeria after church meetings on Sundays, adults sat around a big table together and us kids at a separate one. At some point the kids would wander off to the arcade and I’d go but get bored so always came back to the interesting grown-up conversations. There would be a handful or two of adults chatting about whatever and I’d start with mom or dad and go around the table, just listening and rubbing shoulders. Everyone was used to it, and I loved being able to sneak into their world a little bit.
Then I got married to someone who didn’t want to touch me. Refused to try, for I needed it so much I complained about it constantly. And he didn’t take me seriously. I had to grow cold to survive. To retrain myself suddenly to not need the touch I was formed by.
I’ve had the most complicated relationship with touch for 20+ years now and haven’t been able to find a way to heal it. I shy from it, because it’s so INTENSE to me.
I didn’t think of these things when I was rubbing his shoulders today, then his neck, and his scalp. He had the most beautiful hair, but this last round of radiation knocked it out. His scalp hasn’t adjusted yet and is really dry, so I went to grab some of mom’s moisturizer and rubbed it onto the skin. It was almost luxurious to be able to feel his scalp go from dry to smooth and as my fingers went over his head I watched them trace the scars from his surgeries. He’s had a hard time verbalizing but was able to turn and tell me that if he was a kitten he’d be purring. I giggled and wondered how long he’d been thinking it before he was able to get his mouth to say it. I told him I’d see him later and I had to get back to work, and to let me know if he needed anything at all. He smiled and poured himself another tall glass of milk and kept eating his cherry pie.
In talking to mom today she thanked me for rubbing his head and shoulders, she knows he needs the physical touch. And of course I told her it was good for me too, which it is.
Then it hit me. That he can gift me this before he goes. To teach me once again as I was taught as a kiddo that touch is a beautiful thing. That it’s not awful anymore, that it doesn’t have to be painful. That it can in fact soothe someone, and it can soothe me at the same time.
It has been so long. And this is the best lesson and the greatest comfort. He will be getting ALL the lovely head rubs, as long as he wants them.
I don’t mind the missed trip though, even if it is probably (maybe) the last trip dad will have to the beach. Needed a quiet weekend at home and the thought of being surrounded by nonstop action and talking would have been overwhelming.
Dad left Friday with hair starting to fall out from the radiation treatments. Thankfully that was his last day of the treatments and he won’t have to do them anymore. Went straight into hospice when they got back. He got out of the car and for the first time in my life saw him with the typical male pattern baldness. The man has always had the most beautiful thick dark hair, didn’t even start to go seriously white/gray until a year ago when cancer treatments began.
Mom asked if I’d shave his head for him so I grabbed their buzzer and asked how he wanted it. Just a trim, he wanted to keep what he could. So I trimmed the sides and shaved the top so it could regrow evenly. Touched up around his ears, shaved his neck and shaped his beard, brought it to a consistent length then faded the sides.
While doing his hair we sat on the deck so his hair would take to the winds and become parts of nests for the birds. I imagined some of it getting caught in spiderwebs and silvering the soil as it disintegrated.
I could tell when he dropped into the space that feeds the ASMR side of me. Where only a specific part of my left thigh bristles in goosebumps and my scalp gets deliciously tingly. I knew what he was experiencing because I get the same way with certain sounds, different ranges of bliss in being groomed. He melted into my hands as I turned his head this way and that and tilted his chin to trim his neck. His big sighs made something in my chest loosen up, I hadn’t realized I was holding it so tight.
When done I wiped his noggin down and he shuffled in to the mirror to take a look. I was in the kitchen with my sis and mom and heard a very loud guffaw coming from down the hall. I trotted over to see what he thought and he said he had never imagined what he’d look like when he was balding, I imagine it was because he’d never experienced it personally. His dad died with a full head of hair after all, none of us imagined what he’d look like with male pattern baldness. I still do a double take when I see him after the trim, maybe he will have time to grow some back so he doesn’t have to go without his hair.
Haven’t had a full winter in my place as yet, moved into Betty Bewildered earlier this year in March. Adjusting to the need for warmth and the need for balance of fresh air is interesting. Last night I hung an extra blanket over the bedroom window, well the one I can open. The room is nothing but bed and a bookshelf, with no room to walk between them. Worth it though, I’ve basically built-in bookshelves and a bedside table all in one. Absolute genius.
Dad had his last round of radiation today and is going directly into hospice. The radiation has messed with his ability to verbalize well. I’d say he should learn some sign language but honestly his gestures aren’t that well controlled. He’s trapped but I’m not sure if he feels that way at the moment. Part of me hopes he doesn’t realize. But I know he’s there.
I give him a hug or back scratches, scalp skritches, as much as I can, knowing that he doesn’t probably get a lot of touch like that. No fault to anyone on that though. He’s not always been the most approachable. But I don’t want him to go without touch. It was his appreciation of back rubs and gentle gestures that made me need touch so much when I was younger. When I first got married that was an enormous issue with my then husband. He didn’t like to touch, and I needed it desperately. Now I don’t care for it unless it’s someone I know and love deeply. Or maybe I still need it as much as I was taught to by dad. It’s just too painful.
A Burd in Flight 