TheBanyanTree: Getting old(er)

[Monique Colver]

Not that I am, of course, not by any means. In fact, mentally I seem to be
regressing. My childlike demeanor just wants to come out and play.

But my dad, as he likes to remind me, is getting older. Or old. Or
something. I called him yesterday. I had this suspicion I should, but I have
those suspicions a lot and don't do it. I might not have, had it not been
for the strange phone call I got right after my work day was to have ended
(which doesn't mean it did end, it just means that it could have been ended
by then, which is one of the joys of being my own boss). I didn't recognize
the number, but the area code looked familiar, so I answered it.

I answered and said my name, which I often do if I don't know who's calling
because it's a business phone and personal phone all rolled into one, and
who greets clients with "Dude! What's up?"

I don't answer the phone like that either though. Did you really think I
did? I hardly ever call anyone dude anymore.

There was no response, but I could hear background noise. Someone was there,
somewhere, but they sure weren't talking to me. After a minute or so of no
response I hung up. I don't like to be on the phone with myself. I'm much
more interesting in person than on the phone anyway.

I did a google search on the phone number because I'm always curious about
who's calling me, and when I did I found out that the number is my
brother-in-law's business phone. I didn't have it saved in my phone because,
frankly, I have no desire to speak to my brother-in-law, and we never do.
Unless we're in the same room together, but how likely is that to happen?

Wondering why he'd possibly have my phone number, much less use it so
clumsily, I called the number back. Maybe there was an emergency I was
supposed to know about? My sister, who the brother-in-law belongs to, is my
dad's primary link to reality, and the one I'd expect to hear from should he
stop being so cheerfully healthy.

(By cheerfully healthy I mean something totally different, which we'll get
to later.)

I called and no one answered, so I left a message. "Dude, you called me? Is
there something I should know?"

Okay, I didn't call him dude.

It was probably an innocent butt dial. These things happen. I accidentally
dial people all the time. If you're in my phone you've probably been a
victim. Sorry about that.

But I didn't know for sure, because why he would have me on his phone AT ALL
is a mystery. So I called my sister's cell phone. No answer, so I left a
message. And their home number. No response.

So then I thought, "Hey, maybe I should check and see if dad's okay." So I
dialed dad, and dad reliably answered the phone.

I couldn't very well say, "Just calling to make sure you aren't in the
hospital" and then hang up, could I?

So dad and I had an entertaining talk about his travails with the American
Medical System, which includes the highway robbery by his pharmacy for a
month's supply of pills and his daily bowel movements. This may not seem
interesting, but my dad had bowel cancer and had it removed, so it's far
more useful knowledge than one might think.

At least I think that's what he's thinking. I really have no idea.

He always likes to tell me how his doctor says he's pretty healthy, for a
man in his condition, and how when he asks his doctor "so why does
everything hurt then?" his doctor replies that they have yet to invent a
pill to prevent aging.

My dad never planned to live this long. He was supposed to die decades ago,
a walking time bomb of a bad heart and unhealthy habits. He outlived his
third wife, who had her post-husband life all figured out, for when he would
die on her, when she'd dropped dead suddenly. His siblings have all died.
His friends are gone, though he didn't have that many since once his third
wife came on the scene she decided who that would be. He doesn't go anywhere
because it's too much trouble. He lives alone, and he watches TV, and he
argues with the cleaning lady about charging too much. Occasionally he
accuses her of trying to rip him off. Occasionally he calls his dead
brothers' widows, just to check in. He has no hobbies. He has no interests.
If you were to ask him what his youngest daughter does for a living he'd say
she does taxes, which is a very small part of what I do, and if you asked
him my husband's name there's a pretty good chance he wouldn't have any
idea. He can't even remember I had a second husband.

He got a new grandson last week. He knew this, but when I called him he
asked the baby's name, and so I told him.

I give him a break because he's old. However, none of this is new. You could
go back more than 20 years and he was still the same person he is now. My
sister and I laughed together, 25 years ago, when dad, with whom we were
trying to have a conversation, kept ignoring anything we said about
ourselves and kept talking about himself. We could have said anything at all
and he would have responded by talking about something totally unrelated
that focused on him. And we just laughed about it because what else can you
do?

Dad's getting older, but he's in good health. He survived heart attacks, a
stroke, cancer, the loss of one son, and the loss of part of a finger.
Cabinet making is a dangerous job after all. He might outlive us all,
waiting in his little apartment, watching TV and bitching about . . .
everything. One son he "never" hears from but rarely (and there's reasons
there), the other's the good one, but just had a baby, my sister doesn't
give him enough time though he relies on her so much she's overwhelmed.

And I'm far away, and not relevant to any of them.

Dad is cheerfully healthy, he revels in his declining health and his
absorption on his creaky joints and misfiring digestive system. He laughs at
my sister-in-law the pharmacist who wants him to eat healthy, when he's
never been inclined in that direction. Why start now? He passes his days
waiting. Time passes, and he waits. He's patient, because he has all the
time in the world.


-- 
Monique Colver