On the road again

We decided it was time to get out of dodge for a week end so, after some discussion about destinations (we were going to visit family in Montana, but he had a granddaughter's ball game to attend out of town), we chose the North Cascade Highway.  Less than 2 hours out of town, Dad saw an RV park and we pulled in.  No problem.  It's beautiful here, and this trip isn't about the destination, it is about relaxing, visiting, and giving Dad what ever he wants. 

Sunset in Carlton, Washington, last night.

I'M A FREAKIN MECHANICAL ENGINEER
So after we hooked up to electrical, I hooked up the water and tried to fill the tank.  However, there was a little pipe that didn't look like it went anywhere and water kept pouring out of it.  Dad said, "it's just venting the air in the lines."  Nope.  It was venting all the water in the tank.  I don't know if part of that little pipe was knocked off, if the end plug fell out, or what.  I'm not that girl who thinks about why mechanical stuff works.  I believe in magic.  You plug it in.  You turn it on.  And like magic, it works.  I love this philosophy, and for the most part, it works for me.  However, lying in a puddle of water under the camper trying to figure out how to get all our water supply from draining onto the ground, I became a mechanical engineer.  Here is my solution:

"Oh my," you say, "it looks like she jammed a stick into that little pipe there."  "Why yes," I say, "I'm a veritable genius when it comes to automotive repairs."  I did try two other sticks, but they were too small to keep the water from running out of the tank.  This wonderful, perfect stick still allows a small drip.  Problem mostly solved.  And there you go.  Like I said, I'm a freakin mechanical engineer when the circumstances require it.

Must go.  Dad is up and it's time to pretend to be a chef.  He's trying to decide between burnt pancakes or well done eggs.  I love choices, don't you?

Time

Things are slowing down at our house.  Dad is sleeping more.  Eating less.  Talking less.  He fell twice this week end so we are on fall watch.  I'm trying not to hover, but I'm hanging out until his last potty break of the night which usually happens between 1 and 3 a.m.  I may not be able to prevent a fall, but I can't bear the thought of him lying on the floor all night unable to get up.  We're also taking measures so he can take care of himself without getting out of bed and walking into the bathroom, which helps with my fears and worries.

When thinking about death, his death, I get very sad.  Somehow, death has become the equivalent of failure.  He's had an amazing life.  He still has an amazing life.  9 kids.  3 wives.  He's wrecked several cars and one airplane.  And after recovery, he kept driving and flying.  He's worked hard, played hard, prayed hard, loved hard, and kept going in the face of disaster and loss, success and abundance.  He's a good dad, a good friend, a good example, and a good human being.  My dad is not a failure.  Death is not a punishment.  It's a natural part of life and a gift so we don't think we have forever to get things done and then never do them.  He's packed his life full and he's still packing.

I have no crystal ball to tell me when he will die.  But it seems the time is getting nearer.  He wants to go to Montana this week end.  He wants to get through cherry harvest in mid-July.  He wants to go to Yellowstone Park in August.  And he's mentioned going to Arizona again next January.  If will alone can make these things happen, we'll be heading for Arizona in January.  But this is real life.  Real death.  I think the Lord might want him home sooner.  I think he knows that, too.

So we are taking one day at a time and thanking the Lord for the blessing of time.  I'm grateful for the  compassionate people I work with.  I'm grateful for my mom who is amazing and kind and enjoying dad's companionship and caring for him so gently at this time in his life, even though they've been apart for some 35 years.  Closing the circle.  It's strange if I think about it, but somehow feels very natural.  Our family is amazing.  Our little community is very caring. I am surrounded with the tender mercies of so many people who love Dad, who love me, and who care about us.

What else is there?