Never Underestimate the Power of Your Mind

/ Susan Hanshaw / Leave a comment

It was raining the other day when my husband returned home from a grocery shopping trip. I am so grateful that he does most of our shopping. I was downstairs in the kitchen when I heard Dean’s car drive up, and I opened the front door for him. He asked me to open the side door to the garage so that he could unload a couple of packs of water without tracking wet dirt through the house. Our plan was that he would hand me the burlap bag that contained the rest of the groceries before he came back through the side door of the garage.

Upon grabbing the burlap bag, he discovered that its bottom was seeping wet. One of the bottles of daily shower cleaner that he loves to use had somehow burst. There were three yogurt containers in the same bag that were victims of this moisture outburst. He handed me the wet burlap bag and I brought its contents into the house. I rinsed the yogurt containers in water and dried them. They still smelled faintly of the shower cleaner, and I wondered how safe it would be to hold on to them. I shared my concern with Dean, who is usually the one to express doubt. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine,” he said.

I had put the three yogurts in a designated spot in the refrigerator so I could identify them in the coming days. Three days later I reached for a yogurt to top off my daily oatmeal and fruit bowl. I was aware that the container I picked up was from the shower cleaner incident. After placing a couple of scoops on top of the fruit, I tasted the yogurt on my spoon. I told myself it didn’t taste right, and I immediately launched into panic mode.

In my panic, I told myself that I had consumed yogurt contaminated by a cleaning solution. Immediately I felt nauseous and for a moment, frozen in a cloudy fear, imagining that I had been poisoned. Dean walked into the kitchen as I was scooping yogurt out of my bowl into the sink. I told him the sensations that I’d been experiencing. He took a scoop of the yogurt and said it tasted fine to him. While that gave me a sense of peace, I continued to clear my oatmeal bowl of that container of yogurt.

The Lesson

As someone who has experienced anxiety, this was a reminder of how quickly and powerfully my mind can take over if not directed by positive thoughts. At the same time, it’s a lesson on how much I can leverage the power of my mind to take me where I want to go, provided I work with it in partnership.

Embracing Your Numbered Days

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As someone who has always celebrated events which mark the passage of time, I have been dumbfounded by the revelation I’ve been having the last couple of years, that yes, my days are numbered and that life is indeed finite.

I have always been keenly aware of when one season is transitioning to the next, pausing to anticipate how the tone of my days will likely change. My husband regularly teases me when I alert him to the date in which the current season will change to the next. I hold a curiosity of how lunar changes may impact my own and the energies around me, so I deliver unsolicited full moon advisories to anyone who is close to me.

I thought that these efforts signaled that I was being conscious of the cycle of life. Maybe I was. But I recognize now that it was on a small scale. At 64 I feel I have been hit on the head with the revelation of the finite nature of life.

Acknowledging my mortality

I’ve been a journal keeper throughout my adult life, diligent to document my emotional journey as I navigate the various stages of my life. I’ve also kept a wish list for my life. As I update this list at least once a year to anticipate the new year, it’s been interesting to see what gets crossed out and what gets added. The charcoal brown Mercedes lost its appeal in my 40s. My desire to stay fit, healthy, and live my life from a spiritual perspective never has left me.

One wish was that my parents live to be the age of 80. One year I crossed that out and changed it to 85. My dad is now two months away from 89 and my mom 86. My father was diagnosed with dementia a couple of years ago. It’s been a hardship that has especially impacted my parents. If the dementia weren’t enough, my dad’s eyesight is so bad that he cannot read and the arthritis so bad in his back that his physical movement cannot extend past a 90 degree hunchback.

Recognizing that my parents are now physically vulnerable, and my mother as a constantly tired caretaker, has shown me a mirror to my own mortality. These two people who have given me life, who grew to be friends who I embarked upon adventures which ranged from travel to the family room. I recognize they are just one generation ahead of me.

Overcoming the fear of what comes with aging

I can’t really say that I have a fear of aging itself. While I don’t like many of the physical manifestations that come with getting older, I don’t fear the process. I feel good about who I am at this age and try to manage the physical aspects as best as I can.

What I have the greatest trepidation about is death itself. I am someone who likes to understand how things work. The unknown of leaving this worldly plane is my biggest fear.

  • What’s going to happen?
  • Will I get to be with my loved ones?
  • What will life be like on the other side?

I’ve read books involving people who have had near-death experiences, as well as those who have been brought back to former lives through deep hypnosis. I found these stories to be fascinating at first, yet going deeper began to feel like too much information. I think I’ll work on my faith and let that adventure unfold when it’s time.

The Gift of Perspective

There is a gift in recognizing that the stopwatch for life does not run on unlimited time. My cousin, a successful building contractor, lost his wife to an aggressive cancer at the time they were beginning a retirement planned for global travel. A favorite client in great shape recently passed away suddenly from a rare heart condition at age 62. “Do it now while you still can” has been a mantra passed on by family and friends that I have recently been taking ultra seriously. What more do I need to put things in perspective?

I am a harsh judge of myself. I don’t give myself enough credit for what I’ve done in my life. I tend to put more focus on what I need to do better. Yet as I look at my life in terms of unlimited time, the value I place on what needs to get done is changing. I can’t continue to take for granted that I will be physically able to do the many things that are on my bucket list. I realize that I must begin making some of those plans now.

If this strikes a chord with you, I’d love to hear why in your comments. Thanks for visiting.

Exploring the Afterlife: What I’ve Learned About What Lies Beyond

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A couple of things have occurred in my life this past summer that have brought me to an incessant curiosity about what happens after we die.

Background on my fascination

The backdrop to my new obsession was my 64th birthday which I celebrated last month. In recent years I’ve begun to be keenly aware that my life here on Earth is not limitless. I’ve been feeling a greater pressure—totally self-imposed—to identify my divine calling. What can I do in or with my life to feel like I’ve used my gifts and talents in the way they were intended? This is a question I’ve been pondering for the last two decades. Yet I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve not done the work to the deeper level that it deserves. No wonder I still have no answers.

Another incident that inspired my probing about life after death was the sudden passing of a favorite client of the marketing firm I manage. In great physical shape and with so much going for him at age 62, our client was taken by a heart condition which was a hardening of the heart muscle itself. The condition often offers no warning signs that something may be wrong. We learned a few days after his passing. My business partner and I were devastated.

This was a tragedy that hit home. It was a wake-up call on how vulnerable we are at any time, but particularly as we age. My thoughts have ranged from how can I make the most of every day to how can I prepare myself for death to what have I really come here to do?

A fascinating resource

I had great respect and affection for my client who recently passed. The loss inspired me to want to learn more about his spiritual transition to the afterlife, as well as educate myself on what my own transition might be like. I pulled an old book off my bookshelf that was given to me by a dear friend some 20 years ago, Journey of Souls, by Michael Newton, Ph.D.

As someone who believes in reincarnation and the infinite nature of our soul, I find this book to be incredibly fascinating as it chronicles the reports of 29 clients who have recalled their experiences between lives as eternal spirits with Dr. Newton while in a state of deep hypnosis.

My greatest takeaways

It’s only been a few days since I began reading and I’m just shy of the half-way mark, but the impact on my thoughts and consequential actions has been immense. Reminding myself that we are all spiritual beings here on Earth facing lessons inspired for our growth as souls has brought me a sense of peace that I’ve not experienced in a while.

I think the greatest takeaway from the book was being introduced to the idea that we all have personal spiritual guides that are here for us in both our Earthly and spiritual plane lives. My meditation practice now feels so much more accessible to the answers I seek.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject. Do you feel the presence of a personal guide?

Childless Isn’t Always By Choice

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Now and then I wonder why my life turned out for me to be childless. It was not by choice.

How I was prepared to start a family

I grew up assuming that I would have children. It was never a nagging desire, rather it was what I expected would be a natural passage of life. My mother imparted the idea in me that my priority in life was to get married and have children. My parents paid for my older brother to go to a 4-year university, yet they did not encourage me to continue my education. It was important to me, so I funded my own college education.

I started building a career in my early twenties, while my mother only took interest in my romantic life. At 22 I met a man a year older who checked all the boxes. He was good to me, my parents liked him, he was handsome, fun, had a good head on his shoulders, and what looked like a promising career ahead of him. He supported my own desire to learn and grow. He proposed a year into our relationship.

A failed pregnancy

It was about nine months into our marriage that I learned I was pregnant. My husband and I were both happy about the news. Yet just as we started to tell our families and close friends, I began seeing blood on my panties. A couple of days later I called the doctor when the cramping began. Our emergency trip to the hospital that night revealed that I had miscarried. I was cramping severely and immediately underwent a dilation and curettage (D&C) procedure to remove the fetal tissues.

It was a very painful experience physically and emotionally. The cramping from the miscarriage was the most intense I’d ever experienced. The loss of the life I expected to carry within me and bring into the world was devastating.

A couple of years later I began to feel the physical sensations that I could now associate with being pregnant. My breasts felt swollen and tender. I was experiencing bouts with nausea. A visit to my doctor confirmed what I suspected. I was pregnant.

My second miscarriage

My husband and I were excited once again. But for me, the news came with trepidation. I wanted badly to be able to carry the fetus to term. Yet I was haunted by my previous experience with pregnancy.

As fate would have it, a couple of weeks later I began seeing the signs of what I’d experienced before—the bleeding and the cramps. This time I knew what was at risk here. I just wanted to stop it from happening, and it was maddening that it was completely out of my control. I let the spotting go on for a couple of days, with the hope that I was just going through a tough patch. When it became clear that my condition was not getting any better, I made an appointment with my doctor. Unfortunately, my doctor confirmed that I was miscarrying once again. This time I knew the drill. D&C procedure and then back home carrying a broken heart.

Pondering the purpose of my being childless

I was not in the mindset at the time to consider that there may be a spiritual purpose behind the two miscarriages. It wasn’t until the following year when my husband and I made the decision to divorce that I began to consider there was a reason for it. I would not have wanted to raise a child in a broken home.

I did not meet another man that I would have wanted to have children with until I was 47. By the time we were certain we wanted to stay together, it felt too late.

Do I have any regrets about this? Not really. I do find myself watching a parent engage with their child, recognizing it as a joyful experience that I’ve never had and never will. I used to worry that not having a child meant that I won’t have anyone to take care of me when I’m old, until a good friend reminded me that isn’t something that comes with a guarantee. Then there are the times when I will pass a soccer field where parents have gathered to watch their children play, and the avid not a sports fan in me is grateful that I didn’t have to endure that.

Writing this post has brought me to a place where I’m examining the purpose of my life as a woman without a child deeply for the first time. If it was to free me up to be of greater service, I have failed. But it’s not too late to create a change.

When a Dementia Diagnosis is a Gift

/ Susan Hanshaw / 1 Comment

We celebrated my father’s 87th birthday a couple of weeks ago. Last week during a routine check-up, his doctor told he and my mother that he is in the early stages of dementia. 

I wasn’t surprised to hear this as I’ve seen signs of memory issues coming for some time. He’s asked me the same question or shared the same story repeatedly in a single phone conversation. I’ve experience my father struggling to remember something familiar while in the midst of speaking. Sometimes what feels like an unrelated comment will come out of nowhere. I’ve heard him confusing the details of an event, like reporting that a telephone appointment was a live meeting. My mother has shared that he’s recently asked her if she was 40 years old, and if she knew that he has a son. 

When I first talked to my father about his diagnosis, he told me that he knew this had been progressing for a while. I felt exuberant that he could speak so coherently about the issue. He never said anything to any of us in the family, and yet he was totally accepting of the news when it came. He told me on the phone that night they got the news, “It is what it is. I can’t change it. I’ve lived a good life. I’ve had a good wife. I have good kids. What more can I want?” 

A Heart-Warming Evolution 

Over the past year I’ve seen signs that my father is sensing the end of his life. Every phone conversation or visit has blessed me with at least one, usually more, verbal expressions of his love. Occasionally he’ll break down in tears while telling me he loves me. “You’re in my heart”, he has said to me, his only daughter.  

It has been heart-warming to experience my father evolving emotionally over the decades. Having lost his mother at age 12 and equipped with less than a high school education, he immigrated to the United States from the island of Malta with two of his brothers at age 17. He landed in San Francisco living two houses away from the woman who would become my mother. He married her at age 22 and spent his career working as a longshoreman on the waterfront. My older brother was born a year later and I followed the next year.  

Back in that day fatherhood was viewed very differently. My father was the breadwinner and my mother took care of the household. Although I always felt a bond with my dad due to the unique relationship we shared as father and daughter, I can’t say I was close with him. When I got into my teens, I would hold my breath when my friends were in our home, hoping my dad would not embarrass me with the profanity he regularly indulged in. As we both grew older, I began to see a softer side of him, particularly after he retired. I sensed that as he moved away from the guys on the docks, he felt freer to communicate from the heart and his language of the past was cast aside. 

The Gift in the Diagnosis 

After my mom called to tell me about the diagnosis, my husband Dean remarked that I was taking the news very well. I told him that I had seen it coming and that it was no surprise. It was actually a relief to me that my father’s condition had been defined. First, it’s now at the top of his medical records and he is undergoing treatment in an effort to slow the progression of the disease. We now have clarity on why he says some of the things he says, or why he sometimes shows up in uncharacteristic behavior. I’ve let go of my impulse to correct the facts. Yet most of all, those of us who love him can prepare to make the most of our time with him and be as ready as possible for what will lie ahead. 

If you have any personal experience with loved ones with dementia, I would love to hear any insights you’d like to share. 

What Guitar Lessons Have Taught Me About Perseverance

/ Susan Hanshaw / 5 Comments

I started taking guitar lessons a couple of weeks ago. It has been a humbling experience. 

I am starting this journey at ground zero. The only other experience I’ve had with playing a musical instrument was when I took keyboard lessons on and off for a couple of years when I was in my late 20’s. My keyboard was inexpensive, and the sound quality didn’t inspire me to go deeper into it. Plus, I was distracted by other things going on in my life. So, I let it go. 

My husband is a big music fan and I bought him a guitar for his 60th birthday a couple of years ago. I made the purchase talking with a sales guy from a very popular instrument store locally. I knew virtually nothing about guitars. My husband has played the guitar a few times, yet says he hasn’t embraced it because the neck isn’t a good fit for his hands. It was about the same time recently that I started to think about possibly trying to learn to play it myself that my husband started encouraging me to give it a try. I’d been thinking a lot lately about not wanting to have any regrets at the end of my life so I decided to see what I can learn to do with a guitar. 

In my ignorance of guitars, I didn’t realize that the strings were metal and that my fingertips would hurt from pressing on the strings. After a couple of weeks of study, I am still working on gaining a clear understanding of what each note is supposed to sound like. In my effort to tune the guitar by ear the other day, I accidentally tightened the wrong string and suddenly it snapped off with a loud plunk. The string has been fixed and the guitar professionally tuned, so I am continuing on my learning journey. 

How I’m Persevering Outside My Comfort Zone 

I am definitely very far out of my comfort zone—a rare place for me to be. I’m someone who thrives on learning new things, and usually those new things come to me rather easily. Yet I recognize now that most of my new learning in recent years has involved digital platforms or other practices that are on an intellectual or physical fitness level.  I’m now working on developing a skill in the music realm which requires hand and finger coordination and a keen ear for sound—skills that I haven’t studied in decades, let alone practiced. 

I am finding that being a beginning guitar student is hard for me. Remembering where to position my fingers for each chord, learning how to move my fingers smoothly from chord to chord, and how to strum in a pleasing rhythm. Hey, I didn’t even know the difference between a chord and a note until I started this practice. Yet I’m not going to let myself bag out on learning just because it’s hard. That would be a regret I wouldn’t want to face. I recognize that practice will enable me to get better. I also know that putting my ego aside and giving myself permission to do something that I’m not yet good at will help me to persevere.  

Some thoughts that are helping me to stay committed: 

  • The initial pain in my fingertips is lessening as they get used to the practice 
  • It’s been helpful to explore different instructors that may be a better fit for my learning needs 
  • Acknowledge the progress that I’ve made rather than focusing on what I cannot yet do 
  • Seeing myself as a person who plays the guitar and creating visions for what that may look like as I get better 

If you have a similar experience in stepping out of your comfort zone, I’d love to hear your comments. 

How I Learned I Wasn’t Feeding My Soul and What I Did About It

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The other morning I walked by a photo of my two cherished cats, Sarah and Janie, who I’ve lost in recent years. This photo has been in my home office since I’ve had the girls, yet this time I somehow felt called to pick up the framed photo and really take it in from a deeper perspective.

What I saw in the photo was my two young girl kitties lounging on pillows on a favorite loveseat a year of two shy of 20 years ago. I recognized that I was the photographer behind the camera lens. It brought me back to where we were in our lives together back then.

As a single woman, Sarah and Janie were like my kids who I would return home to after a day at the office, or having had dinner out with a friend, after an evening at the gym, or having participated in the spiritual community that I had joined. I’ve long since accepted that my girls were gone, but I hadn’t contemplated what I’ve lost in my life since we were all together.

Identifying the Source of Loss

The reckoning of loss in that moment brought upon a level of sadness that made me feel like I wanted to sit myself down and cry. Beyond missing my two little sweethearts, I identified a loss I felt inside that stunned me. And I knew that this awareness had come to beg me to do something about it.

I’d become lazy about exploring new personal interests, communities and friendships since meeting and marrying my husband. Throw the isolation of COVID-19 on top of that and there hasn’t been a lot of new fuel to feed my soul. I recognized that this is all on me.  

Thankfully the sadness didn’t linger for more than a few hours, and the recognition that I needed to take action to take care of myself on a deeper level came to the forefront. I saw ultra-clearly that continuing to procrastinate about putting myself out in the world, despite the pandemic, would be detrimental to my spiritual and mental health.

The Action I Took

I’ve been a subscriber to a local volunteer agency email newsletter for a couple of years now. I had been reading their weekly emails, yet admittedly keeping the opportunities at arms distance, always finding a reason why an opportunity was not a fit for me.

Last week I saw a volunteer opportunity that really spoke to me. While I didn’t meet the requirements stated in the posting, I reached out anyway. I now have a phone meeting to discuss the opportunity with the person in charge with filling it.

The Lessons

I am a big believer in the idea that lessons will come to you when you are ready to receive them. I’ve known for quite some time that my soul was itching for some nourishment, yet I procrastinated. It took the pain I felt from the photo of Sarah and Janie to realize that something was missing, and that the only person who could do something about it was me.

While it’s still not clear whether this volunteer opportunity will be a fit, I’ve proven to myself that I am ready and willing to embrace something new.

How Are You Doing?

Worldwide we’ll soon be closing in on nearly two years in this pandemic state. I’d love to hear how it has impacted you where you are. What are you obstacles? Have you been able to open up your world to feed your soul?

Accepting the Reality of Aging Parents

/ Susan Hanshaw / 7 Comments

My 86-year-old father has arthritis in his back so badly that he cannot stand up straight. When I visited him this past weekend his back was more bent over than ever. And it had only been three weeks since my last visit.

The significance of the issues with my father’s back first came to my radar when my now husband, Dean and I took my father and mother to a rustic Northern California coastal resort to celebrate his 80th birthday. It was mid-January, and we were blessed to have seaside temperatures in the sunny 70s, when a bank of fog and wind would typically cool the weather into the 50s. I felt that our time together had been given a gift.

Recognizing the Pain

After we checked in to the hotel, we walked our luggage up the stairs from the open-air lobby to our second-floor rooms.  This became my first experience in recognizing that my father was beginning to struggle with his physical condition. He was struggling to climb the stairs that would lead us to our rooms. My father’s gestures showed that he was frustrated by these challenges. The rest of us didn’t bring any attention to it.

Once we all got to our adjacent rooms, we had a wonderful time being together. We chatted about lots of different topics, something that visits with the responsibilities of home didn’t come as easily.

Yet at the time I didn’t fully apprehend the reality of what was taking place. It was too new to me. We were moving into a new phase.

Dean and I got married nine months later.  Throughout the course of our reception, I observed my father in a visible state of physical pain. It was the first time I’d seen him use a cane in public. As much as I know he loved me and his then new son-in-law, his physical pain that day had overridden his joy.

Empathy of Pain

My latest visit with my parents enabled me to recognize once again that my father is living in a state of chronic pain. His quality of life is clearly not good, and my mother lovingly bears the burden of caretaker. She admits that she is exhausted all the time taking care of my father and all the household needs. My father doesn’t complain, yet it’s clear from his disposition that he is not happy about the limitations of his physical condition.

A Turning Point

I now recognize that this is a challenge for my family that isn’t going away. I cannot turn my head, hoping it will go away.  I need to put energy towards educating myself to help my parents get through the health issues ahead of them. While I clearly need to be a greater physical presence in their lives, I need to develop a fuller plan.

Last night on the phone I told my mother that I recognized how much she did and acknowledged that she needed help. She told me that it was her job and that she would let me know when she needed help. She’s never been one to have household help. The gardener who has mowed their lawn over the last decade has been the extent of their outside help.

What to Do Now

I’ve committed to spend more time with my parents to not only support them, but to get a better picture of what’s going on with them. From that will come the discovery of what their insurance covers and all of that stuff. My parents walked me through this some 15 years ago, a time where I felt the need to know was so far in the future that I didn’t take good notes.

I’ve got to step up to the plate now.

Any insights you can offer on your own experiences would be great.

Losing My Dependency on the Gym

/ Susan Hanshaw / 1 Comment

Last Saturday morning I woke up at 7:25 without an alarm feeling no pressing need to meet any early morning commitment. As I took joy in the opportunity to linger in bed, I acknowledged the freedom that the COVID-19 pandemic had provided in releasing me of my dependency on the gym.

I signed up for my first gym membership when I was 31. That was 30 years ago. Working out has been a top priority my entire adult life. I was overweight in my youth and I attribute my values towards fitness to that experience and its impact on the self-esteem I felt lost when I didn’t feel good about myself.

The Gym Shutdown

As a gym goer, I would literally design my life schedule around the fitness classes I wanted to attend. I never thought this was ideal, but it was what it was.

My last visit to the gym was Friday, March 13, 2020. After my workout I had an exchange with a young woman in the locker room who attended the Tuesday evening core class that I took. She was flying to Las Vegas to spend the weekend with her boyfriend. She acknowledged the COVID-19 concerns that were becoming more pronounced, but she decided to go anyway. I completely understood.

The following Monday morning I received an email from the gym announcing that the facility was shutting down temporarily due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

I wasn’t surprised, yet I freaked out from this news. I wondered how I was going to be able to maintain my fitness goals without the gym. Even in Northern California the weather wasn’t inviting enough to look forward to a walk in the hills around my home.

My New Fitness Beginning

The following day I dived into spin bike research mode on Amazon. California was ahead of the lock-down curve in the United States, so time was on my side with regards to inventory. The spin bike I ordered was delivered on Friday, March 20th. My husband Dean and I worked together to assemble the bike, which made its maiden voyage that weekend.

The bike has a holder which cradles my iPad and a bar where I lodge my phone to track the time.  At first, I would watch spin classes on YouTube and then it occurred to me that I could consume any kind of content while I was spinning. I’ve read books, caught up on the news, checked the weather forecasts, and watched many interesting interviews and motivational videos while on that bike. It has become a routine I relish between 20 and 45 minutes six mornings a week.

A few weeks into my home workout regime I realized that my 2.5- and 5-pound dumbbells were no longer challenging enough so the hunt began for heavier weights. I would search online over the course of weeks to find a set, but inventory was nowhere to be found. Some two months later Dean came home with a pair of 8 pounders for me that he discovered while shopping at the big discount retail store in our city. A few weeks later I finally scored a pair of 10-pound dumbbells online.

When I was going to the gym the heaviest weights I would take on were 6 pounds. For shoulder work I would go for 4 or 5 pounds. Most of my lifting now is at 10 pounds and 8 for shoulder work. I can now pretty easily hoist a 35-pack of 16-ounce water bottles into a shopping cart.

In the Rear-View Mirror

I got an email from the gym I belonged to a few months ago inviting me to reinstate my membership. The decision was a no-brainer. I had managed to become stronger physically on my own. I discovered that I could do whatever workout I wanted on my own schedule. I feel like I took my life back while saving the cost of the membership.

As I look at this decision now from a place further in the rear-view mirror, I recognize that COVID-19 enabled me to shed a piece of my persona that I came to discover no longer fit. I no longer needed to associate being fit with belonging to a gym.

It has been a great revelation to discover that I can be great on my own.

A Father’s Day Gift in Words

/ Susan Hanshaw / 2 Comments

Last weekend I shared my first real meal with my parents since the COVID-19 outbreak fifteen months ago. It was a Mediterranean takeout lunch that we shared at the kitchen table which has been the hearth of my family for nearly six decades. We were celebrating Father’s Day.

Until then my visits with my mom and dad were limited to facial mask outdoor visits, and depending on the weather, sometimes separated by a screened window. As we gathered this Father’s Day all fully vaccinated, it felt like a return to normal. I hugged and kissed my mother and father, who are 84 and 86, respectively.

So Grateful for the Love

I have been blessed to have shared many great memories with them throughout my adult life. They supported me through divorce and have always been there for me when I needed anything. We shared some great adventures when they visited me during the ten years that I lived in the New England region of the United States. We have had our ups and downs over the years, for sure, but I have always felt deeply loved. And it warms my heart when I hear my parents say that they love my now husband like a son.

My dad spent his career as a longshoreman working on the docks in San Francisco and Oakland. He came across as a tough guy with a vocabulary filled with colorful words. Growing up I would often hold my breath when my high school friends were over, hoping my dad would keep his words clean. Over the last 20 years he has mellowed into a very gentle loving man .

When I greeted him on Father’s Day, he was reclining in his favorite chair in the family room. I bent over to kiss his face and saw tears in his eyes. “I love you” was the very first thing he said.

Signs of Aging

Over the last year my mother has begun to be open with me about my father’s failing memory. She has shared that he often forgets where a household item is stored that has been in the same place for decades. On a recent phone call with my dad, I mentioned the surprise 50th wedding anniversary party we threw for my parents 14 years ago. He told me he did not remember it. During our visit last weekend, I learned that my father also does not remember the special occasion waterfront restaurant lunch and overnight stay we shared with them for their 60th anniversary four years ago.

We enjoyed our lunch and visited for a couple of hours before it was time for us to fight the traffic going home. I remembered the Father’s Day card that had been in my purse and handed it to him. He opened the envelope, admired the image on the front of the card and asked me to read it to him because he said that he cannot see.

A Father Daughter Bond

First, I read the words on the store-bought card and then the handwritten messages from my husband and I, expressing our appreciation for all he has done for us. “I’ve always been there for you,” he said with a sense of pride. So true, I thought to myself as my mind raced back through key events in my life when I needed some loving support.

As my husband and I prepared to leave the house, I bent down to kiss my father good-bye. As I bent over to meet his face, I saw the same watery eyes and heard the same expression of love as when I arrived. “I love you.”

As the only daughter in a family with two brothers, I have always felt a special bond with my dad. This Father’s Day visit opened my eyes to the fact that my time with him here on Earth is not unlimited.