My Dad



My Dad as a teenager in the
early/mid  '50s.



A couple days ago, I shared a rabbit trail I'd stumbled upon which led into the life of Navy Admiral Hyman Rickover, a man, who though he was widely admired, was also a controversial figure toward the end of his long career -- in the 1960s and '70s.  While I was reading through the factoids on his biography sites, I wondered what the average Navy man thought of his admiral at that time.  Was he respected by his men?  Did they bristle at the allegations of misconduct aimed at him in his later years?  Or was he considered a relic and a dawdling old man who'd lost his edge?  I know someone who would know the answers to these questions, and I'd give anything if I could ask him.  But my Dad, a twenty-year veteran of the Navy has been waylaid by Alzheimer's and this topic, that five years ago would have lit the old Navy-day fires, wouldn't even spark an ember now.  It's a heaviness knowing this. 

You see, there was never anyone in this world smarter than my Dad.  He knew everything, knew how to do anything, could solve any problem.  He could drive over winding roads through mountainous terrain, pointing things out to us through the side windows, the whole time never looking at the road, and yet stay safely in his lane, always aware of exactly where he was.  Now my Dad can't remember the word for "glass" and drinks coffee creamer if someone doesn't stop him.  If he's in his own home and my mom is in sight, he's ok; otherwise, he gets confused and disoriented. 



My Dad on the far right.  Get a load of that mug.
I'm thinking he didn't want his picture taken...



He's still my Dad and I'm so grateful we still have him with us, but it's hard to go home and see how far the man is from the man that was. It's especially hard for my mother, who depended on him her whole adult life. A caregiver for him now in much the same way she was for us kids when we were little, she must now supervise his every move.  She lays out his clothes for him on Sunday mornings and goes in a few times to make sure he puts them on.  He can no longer make the morning coffee and feeds the dog so many times a day, that the dog is seriously overweight (she looks like an overstuffed couch).  In the same way, my Mom has to keep a close eye on my Dad to be sure he doesn't take his medications twice.  She never used to give bills a second thought and now she's going through the reality of putting his affairs in order in the event that he should need to go to a care facility.  All of her grown children and her son-in-law stand ready for the wiggle of her finger to help, but the safe and sheltered haven of my Dad's capable, responsible self is gone forever.  It breaks all of our hearts, but it burdens my mom in a practical daily way. 

 

My Dad with me and my brother, Steve,
in about 1966.

But the man I grew up with is still in there.  And, thankfully, it's the soft, sweet version of my sometimes gruff, authoritarian Navy Officer Dad that has survived.    Though he gets cranky and upset at times, most of the time he's smiling and looking for a joke.  Well, at least when I see him; it may be his "company" face rising to the top.  Regardless of his condition, my Dad still does love to have his family around him.  Even though he may not remember who the grandchildren are individually,  he knows they belong to him, and, though he may or may not remember my name, he still knows I'm his daughter. How could he forget? We used to be sparring partners, recreational debate opponent,s in my teen years -- and he was usually the winner, though I wouldn't admit it to him then.  My mother used to get so upset: "Will you two stop arguing?!"  

"We're not arguing!!" We'd yell in unison.  And we weren't. We were just exercising each other's barometers and measuring brain power and tolerance.  Dad had the brain power and I had no tolerance for it.  But my Dad respected that I didn't back down from him if I had at least some semblance of a reasonable argument.  And I respected him because he was my father - but even more so, because he was the man he was -- and still is: a good man, an honorable man,  a faithful son of the Church, the man who made me what I am.


God willing, if I play my cards right, I'll get to heaven someday where I'll get another chance to have a good non-argument with that man -- my Dad.  And I expect he'll still be the winner. He'll still be right.   And that'll be OK.




My Dad and his shipmates in an audience with Pope Pius XII in the late '50s I think.
He's on the pope's right side, about 6 sailors over in the first row standing.

 

Mom and Dad, with Steve, me and Greg in the front row, Nina in Mom's arms.
Late '60s