I visited my dad yesterday. I hadn’t seen him in two years – a series of inter-family events caused a fall-out that I had thought was irreparable. I kept tabs on him from afar, but kept myself removed – and in my mind – safe.
His face visibly brightened as he worked to stand from the green leather chair that is both his viewing/phoning/reading location, as well as where he sleeps. He eschewed a bed a long time ago. Now, with backaches that never end, I can’t help but wonder if the constant sitting isn’t one of the causes. Another round of surgeries is scheduled for Friday. I wish he’d stop letting the doctors cut into him, but he has always had his own mind and listens only to what he wants to hear. In this case, doctors again telling him that they can fix something that he wants changed.
Without a nod to dad, I admit a bias against anyone who thinks that someone else can ‘fix’ them – when they take little or not attempts to help themselves. I’ve followed a healthy diet and exercise regime most all of my life. I think that feeds the health that I am lucky enough to claim, although it’s not just luck, but planning and self-care.
Backaches seem common to anyone over 60. Years of lifting, carting, moving take their toll on the skeletal structure. For me, the only way to stave off the crinkiness – or at least give it some balance – has been the practice of yoga. Letting the body find its own shape, twisting the musculature and bony structure to create freedom from the inside out is a kind of luxurious pleasure. Not always easy, but the end result is exquisite.
Dad at 85 is a reminder to me to keep on keeping on. My health, my body, my spirit and mind. Mine to care for and nurture. My responsibility. My joy to nourish.
