Visiting my Father

I hesitated to write this post. It's not exactly about my journey through worship during my sabbatical year. Sunday turned into a travel day as we spent two full days at my daughter's and then did laundry and slept at my mom's before heading back home.

I couldn't drive by my dad's and not stop. So we called him from the gas station to let him know we were on our way.

It was a normal visit in some ways, but completely different in other ways. Visits with my dad over the last several years have involved his theories on climate change in which he lets us know that he knows what is happening and he wants to find a billionaire or get a million dollar grant to back him in his research. He also talks of wanting to go to the north and south poles to see for himself the effects of his theories. He also continues to talk about ancient aliens, a lifelong interest of his. He also has problems with names. As he talks about current family things, I am usually referred to by my aunt's name of Virginia.

This visit he barely touched on the topic of climate change. He was deep into reminiscing about his early years. He told detailed stories about old girlfriends. There was a story about a woman who came to visit him soon after he moved into his new house. He didn't recognize her and he remembered how she had once stolen his car keys and refused to return them. He hotwired his own car to get home and never did get those keys back! He had no interest in resuming a relationship with her. He talked about another neighbor who he thought would have been his ideal mate, but he never did pursue a relationship with her. He told a story about driving his mother to visit relatives and being picked up for driving in New York State on a PA permit or without a license (I don't quite remember the detail of this) and how his dad had to drive his car, which was not road legal, to pick them up at the police station.

It was interesting to hear these stories, since he usually tells us he doesn't remember anything from his childhood or even our childhoods.

However, the most disturbing part wasn't that he would refer to me as Virginia in his stories...I often call my kids by my brother's name. My brain just makes the family connection to a name without processing the actual person I am talking to/about. This time my dad was truly confused. He would be talking and he would say Virginia then he would stop and look at me. He'd point at me and say, you're not Virginia, who are you again? I'd remind him I was his daughter and he had the story correct. He'd continue the story. Another time, he was telling me a story about my mother when they were married and again, he stopped, looked at me, and asked Do you know Donna? I said, yes, she's my mother, I'm Jackie. He took a moment to process that and then continued the story.

It was slightly upsetting to think that my dad, who we had been worrying about his mental state for years and had been so glad when he finally fully retired from driving cross country at age 80, was continuing to decline.

So instead of going to worship on this morning, I spent time with my earthly father hopefully making those synaptic connections that will maintain until the next time we get to visit.