I’m sad I never got to golf with my dad

This weighs heavily on me. I did ask my father to go hit some balls a few times this summer, but he just shook his head, and I let it go. Now, that it’s too late, I’m cursing myself for not pushing more.

He’s 86.  How many more chances did I think I would have?

It’s complicated.

As I was just getting a golf game a few years ago, my dad was losing his.

That wasn’t all he was losing. His dementia, diagnosed several years ago, was also getting worse.

He fell (again) earlier this year. Fell hard enough in the bathroom in the middle of the night to fracture his hip. He had surgery and spent over a month in hospital as he recovered.

He isn’t coming home.

My mother, who is 85, has moved him into personal care. It’s been the hardest decision of her life.

It’s been the hardest thing I’ve had to witness in mine.

We did everything we could to keep him home. Had homecare lined up morning and night. Removed any obstacles to make their apartment as safe as we could.

He had one responsibility. Not to fall.

He didn’t keep up his end of the deal.

While my mother could still manage his dementia, his falls were another matter. She couldn’t lift him.

She couldn’t carry him any longer.

Having him living away from her in a nursing has filled me with a profound sadness. It’s much deeper than a missed golf game.

This, despite the fact, things worked out better than we could have hoped. We were able to get him placed in the personal care facility in their hometown.  It’s a small town with few beds.

When my mother called to tell me he had a room at Sunnywood Manor, I burst out crying. This startled her as again, it was what we had hoped for.

I haven’t been entirely truthful with my mother. While I’ve supported her decision to move my dad, I’ve been struggling.

I wanted him to come home.

When I look at my life partner, I see someone I hope to be next to until I take my last breath. But we’re both healthy and able. My mother has been caring for my dad whose capacity has been very low for a very long time.  

She is simply done. Now that my dad’s been in the personal care home for a week, I’m starting to hear a brightness return to her voice. But there’s no doubt, this has broken all our hearts.

He is getting great care at Sunnywood. I feel like his lifetime of dedication and volunteerism in their community is being reciprocated. He’s surrounded by people that know and love him.

Still, the sadness has settled around me like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket I’m dragging behind me with every step. I trip over it often.

As I was grappling with this, a few things happened.

I read The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Kimmerer writes about abundance, gratitude, reciprocity and the “gift economy.”  

She uses the sweet, succulent, bountiful serviceberry as a metaphor as she examines a different model for society, “where wealth comes from the quality of your relationships not from the illusion of self-sufficiency.”

In this way, I’m rich. My dad is rich too.

Then, this morning, my friend Kathy Magnusson’s Wildwood Learning newsletter landed in my inbox. We had read Serviceberry together in our anti-racism book group. Like me, she had been deeply moved by the idea of the gift economy where we reimagine our ecological and capitalist systems. She asked her readers to reflect on gratitude.

“What are you grateful for in your life? Where do you feel abundant? Who can you express your thanks to? These reflections can bring a deeper appreciation for the richness in your life.”

Kathy Magnusson

Floundering to feel grateful amidst the sadness I’m carrying, Kathy’s words settled into my conscience.

That wasn’t the only message coming to me today. Scrolling down my emails I see one from The Gurdeep Magazine. The subject reads: “Our Relationship with Sadness”.

Oof.

Gurdeep Pandher (@gurdeeppandher), the magazine’s author, is a Bhangra artist and educator based in the Yukon. His Substack profile describes him this way: “Gurdeep creates videos, classes, speeches, cross-cultural collabs, and performances to build social bridges and spread joy.”

This article was a departure from Gurdeep’s usual effervescent posts, which usually include videos of him dancing with joyful abandon in the frigid wilderness of his northern home.

He writes, “We come into this world with the capacity for sadness as part of our human nature, but finding joy requires conscious effort and dedication and learning to find how to co-exist with sadness.” He shared how sadness had once been his constant companion. Consciously finding his way through it by actively pursuing joy was transformative. He also wrote this.

“If no pain existed in your life, you’d not appreciate small things.”

Gurdeep Pandher

Double oof.

So true.

Gurdeep urges us to look at our own “persistent sadness” for the “opportunities that our tears are presenting.”

Triple oof.

If you’re still with me, let’s think about this.

How can more of us turn our capacity for empathy, caring, and gratitude into the world and shine that in a bigger way?

How can our sorrow become a bright light that achieves some of the goals Kimmerer, my friend Kathy, and Gurdeep have suggested: Reciprocity, gratitude, joy, relationships, a gift economy?

I know I’m going to try and find out.

Even if that means I have to brush away a few tears.

I hope you’ll join me.

My family – so much caring and gifts I hope to reciprocate.

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It’s World Story Telling Day!

I’m celebrating with this post and a nudge to check out a global anthology in which I share a piece about my parent’s enduring 65-year love story. You can read more at whatislovebook.org.

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My upcoming poetry collection

I am self-publishing a poetry collection entitled Somewhere Home, for release in 2025. In the collection, readers will join me on a lyrical dance through the natural and unnatural world. Together, we’ll seek answers to the elusive question, “where is home?”

Here’s a sample…

Permission to cry

 I have always cried
 with no evidence
 that my tears
 are worth the trouble.
 
But there they slip
 off anguished eyelids.
 I do not try
 to control them.
 
How do I mend
 the scars left on others
 by a world
 that isn’t mine?
 
I fail to dodge
 despair, carry it
 like it’s my own–
 too much to endure.
 
Bleeding hearts
 can be messy–
 not something everyone 
 wants to clean up.