A First and a Sixty-First Father’s Day
by Lois Huey-Heck
The round trip to get to grandpa’s hospital room was over five hours – a long time on the road for new parents and their 18-day old baby. But introducing grandpa to his great grandson and namesake on Father’s Day was a pilgrimage of the heart.
My son Bryan’s grandpa (my dad) had been suffering with vascular dementia for some years. His decline had been mercifully slow and he was doing quite well now that he and my mom were settled into assisted living. He still knew us when we visited and we were grateful for that. Then dad fell in the night and he fell again some days later, experiencing what is called a neurological incident. The ambulance came quickly but within the hour, dad had lost his mobility and his cognitive state declined abruptly.
Bryan, busy with a new baby and an apprenticeship, had not visited since his grandpa’s fall. This visit mattered so much to Bryan and knowing how much family means to grandpa, we thought it would be a lift for him. We expected a wonderful reunion and meeting but dad’s dementia comes in waves and the times when he is present with us are fleeting. On that day, dad was mostly sleepy, anxious and fearful.
While going was the right thing to do, it was also deeply painful for all of us. My dear dad, who had been an amazing grandpa and father figure to my son, did not really know who Bryan was, nor was he able to comprehend that the baby he’d been so looking forward to meeting, the child of one of his own beloved grandchildren, was in his arms.
The grief of four generations settled on us during the drive home.
The next day I sent the following poem to Bryan. It was the outpouring of my grief for my dad and deep grief for my son’s heart break:
If He Could
If he could
I believe your grandpa
would have climbed out of the fog
that is obscuring his knowing
He would have burned through that fog—beaming
with a happiness so bright
we’d be reaching for our sunglasses
If he could
I believe he would have hugged onto you today
and not wanted to let you go
You… the man become of the boy he knew and loved
from the first moment he set eyes on you
The boy he loved to hang with
If he could
he would have held your boy to his heart
his eyes brimming over with tears
He would have been grinning sheepishly—a little embarrassed at this display of tenderness
but not ashamed to be overcome by love
nor by the profound gratitude that your boy bears his name
If he could
I believe your grandpa would have let you know
that he sees echoes of his own fathering-spirit in your fathering-spirit
His buttons popping with pride that you embody his loving nature
and that the lineage that connects you and your boy to him is crystal clear
kindling hope in him in his waning time
And even though he can’t speak of these things it doesn’t mean they aren’t true
If he could
I think your Grandpa Raymond Ashford Huey might say
I’ve lived a long and good life, Bry
There have been hard times and good times and lots of laughter
I’ve made my mistakes, God knows
but loving the people near me—has not been one of them
If he could
now
access the deep wisdom of his soul
and the long-view of his spirit—free
he would say
Even as I am fading from this life, Bry
you come bringing new life
You honour me not only in name
but also, by knowing in your bones the love I’ve always had for you
May it sustain you in hard times and in good
And in the end
may my love for you
and through you to your child
be what lives on of me
For you, Bryan, on your first Father’s Day, 16 June 2019, with love beyond words, mom
A year later, this poem keeps returning me to the love that is my dad—not only my dad as he was, but also the essence of who my dad still is in his often-distant present. That grievous Father’s Day experience of last year has opened up a depth of conversation between my son and me about life, death and love – including my life and death. These are conversations that can be hard between a mom and a 30-something son. For all of these gifts, I am grateful.
Lois Huey-Heck
is a spiritual director, author, artist, silent retreat leader and, in the season of the pandemic, a stay-at-home grandma and caregiver. In the midst of a four-generation family sandwich, she is finding surprising spiritual practices in the grounded earthiness of living close to home. Read more about Lois here.
