“Just show up, sometimes that’s enough.”
A colleague said these words to me a few years ago as we sat in my office trading stories about taking care of our aging parents. I had just found out that my father was terminally ill. I had a demanding job and I knew I would need to take time to regularly visit my dad, who lives halfway across the country. Sometimes you can go years hearing words and phrases that really don’t stick until they apply to you. Her words, “just show up,” now apply to me.
It’s been three-plus years since her words struck me and I just returned from another visit with my dad. Since his diagnosis, I have made several trips from my home in Maryland to his home in Minnesota. I enjoy these visits, where I can leave behind my hectic East Coast life and hang with my dad, stepping off the fast track for a few days. At his home, where I have my own room, it is quiet and serene. There’s enough land to get lost on, with a backyard that is my oasis. There, I’m not a wife, a boy-mom or dog-mom. I’m at peace.
We eat. We sip. We love.
My dad and I have always been big eaters. We love to eat hearty meals and we love to snack in between. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day and his favorite one to prepare. Big hearty breakfasts are his specialty, with runny eggs, bacon or sausage, grits and pancakes. We wash it down with enough coffee to keep us perked up until our next delicious endeavor.
During these visits, we drink. Sip. Anything vodka based for me, G&T for him. Back home, I may have a few drinks in one sitting. It’s like I’m in a rush to forget. At dad’s, I may sip one drink over several hours. It’s very leisurely. I am trying to create memories and lucidity is required.
In my family, talking—loudly—is the way we show love. We’re gregarious. We speak up. We speak over each other. We have to compete to be heard. Since his illness, listening to his stories about his childhood and about my childhood have been priceless. Today, when genealogy is so prevalent, nothing beats sitting and listening to stories from the source.
While we express ourselves loudly, we often gloss over or even bury the difficult conversations. For starters, he doesn’t discuss his illness. Ever. While listening to music one day, I heard him express concern that he hadn’t been a good enough father to me and my siblings, that he might have fallen short. This was not a direct comment, it was more of an utterance that he hoped I heard. I wonder if other parents with grown children have similar thoughts. I assured him that setting us up in our hometown, a great place with great opportunities, was parenting enough. We were given a great head start and a solid foundation. We thrived.
My most recent visit lasted four days.
We watched basketball and ate.
We watched Westerns and sipped.
We watched true crime shows and loved.
It was priceless.
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SaveYourSelf | Blog 
This one was touching. i can definitely relate to the family dynamic.
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