A Young Woman's View of Her Father's Illness

     As the New Year awaits sunset, I share an essay my 17 year old daughter, Sarah, wrote on her college request for admission to Amherst College.  I ask myself, "How much more love can be visitted on one man?"

“Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage. "
From The Writer by Richard Wilbur,

Amherst

Class of 1942, 1987 Poet Laureate of the

United States

 

            

            I will never again mistake one of life’s ordinary, everyday inconveniences for a genuine problem. My life was close to perfect; I had never experienced hardship of any kind, and my family and I were happy. Before I really had a chance to appreciate my life and my family, everything changed. Three years ago, my father lived an ordinary but happy life. He got up every morning, put on a suit, and went to work. On the weekends, he usually ran back and forth between the different sports games that my siblings and I played in, and when it was warm outside, he and I would play catch in our front yard for hours. On one snowy day three winters ago, everything came to a screeching halt.

            On that infamous day, several inches of snow had built up and frozen on our roof, and the ceiling in my parents’ bedroom had begun to leak. In an attempt to get the snow and ice off the roof, my dad, who was home with only my younger brother, leaned out a window and tried to smash the ice into pieces and knock it off the roof. When my mom, my sister, and I returned home, we found my father lying on his bed in absolute agony. He had thrown out his back trying to clean the roof. Three failed back surgeries later, he is now disabled and must deal with a back condition called arachnoiditis that will not ever improve. He is forty-seven years old, and the life that he once led is over. Life for my father is now a daily battle with pain. My strong, fearless father now spends more time lying down in bed than doing anything else.

            At times, I cannot even tell that my life has changed. I still spend my days at school, doing homework, or going out with my friends. However, there are moments when I cannot even remember what my life used to be like because so much has changed. The past three years have forced me to grow up very quickly; I am no longer a child, for instead of allowing myself to be taken care of by my parents, I must help provide the care. I play a major role in caring for my younger siblings; I have to help drive car pools, supervise them while they do homework, help them get ready for bed, and make sure their everyday lives run smoothly. I also have to care for my father who needs help with even the most ordinary of tasks, such as driving to the store or making himself lunch. There are no lazy weekend afternoons playing catch, there are no family vacations, and there are no trips to the movie theater because my dad cannot even sit through a movie. Business as usual does not exist; there is nothing normal about the way our family functions now. The truth of the matter is that my dad has a problem that none of us can fix.

When I look at my father, it is impossible for me to complain about my life. He has to experience pain all the time without any real form of relief. I have my entire life ahead of me, and there is no telling what may be in store for me. My father has the rest of his life ahead of him too, but he knows exactly what awaits him. He works to find ways to carry his burden each day, and he does so without self-pity or complaint. Although both our lives are now so very different, my father has taught me that we are still blessed. We have come to appreciate the extraordinary comfort of life’s ordinary pleasures. Despite how heavy our cargo may be, it cannot sink the ship. We will find safe passage together.

Comments

[Anne McGill]

Dear Colin,

God bless you and your family. With or without this disease you are blessed.

I felt very humble when I read Sarah's essay. She is very talented, mature beyond her years and loves you very much.

It's a blessing that she knows what is going on and unlike a lot of us, she misses how things were, but she is not so caught up in her memories that she stopped the business of living.

What a strong person she is. The love of our families and friends is what sees us through this disease. What a lonely and painful exsistence it would be without them.

Hug them all Colin, and keep them safe in your heart.

Anne