Unencumbered– the witnessing of my Dad’s dance with the “things” in his life he had valued at one point and the necessity and urgency he has to clear them out with the point of a finger… NOW!

He is in a dying process and I/we (his close family/friends/medical staff) all know it. More importantly, at some level, he knows it. I see it as a brilliant act of preparing for his own transition. He gets control of what he wants around him and what will provide him with comfort and peace. The rest goes out. Its crazy making for those of us who are digging regularly into the trash for his missing checkbooks, cash, jewelry, hearing aids, etc, but it is what it is. Sometimes he wants to have it back but sometimes he is plain happy to physically toss an item away and never see it again. Like a child. But he is not, he is 81 and experiencing progressive mental and cognitive decline–dementia. His inner world is confusing him and frustrating him. It is so sad to watch and a difficult process to navigate. He is not alone.

His illness has sped up the process of letting go of the material items he has favored for so many years. Gone are the gold plated office scissors and letter opener, electric razors, books, expensive dress clothes, computer, TV, music, etc. His world is getting simpler every day as he looks around and says to whomever is nearby “take it away”. It seems evident that he just can’t tolerate stuff anymore. He wants his loyal dog by his side, a simple flower and ocean rock by his bed side and all the lights on where ever he is. He is grateful for his wife, her love, her care. He knows it is not easy on her and he feels badly. He doesn’t want to be difficult but dementia (if it is fair to label what is going on for him with this term) can be expressed in so many different ways and it is not something that will miraculously get better (at least that is the best guess the doctors can offer). So the challenge is to keep him comfortable, safe, and at home for as long as possible. But quality items? They are headed for the trash and it takes quick fingers to keep Dad from indiscriminately throwing away everything in his line of sight!

I have just returned home after a short visit with my Dad and am exhausted. I am tender. I have no words for what I was present to for four nonstop days. He recognized me and thanked me for the effort, time, and expense to leave my work and family to be by his side. “Of course Dad. I love you!” I say trying to be strong for me; strong for him. A little tear appears on the corner of his eye “I am crying” he said, “get me a kleenex”. “That is good Dad, tears are welcome and important”. I can’t remember if I ever saw him cry. He covers his face. “I’m dry now” he shares. I watch and listen to his quiet heaves. My heart blows wide open. He is in his home in bed. I watch him lay back and close his eyes. He spends a lot of time in bed now. His dog of 14 years curled up by his side. He breathes, not deeply, but steadily. He would wake himself up soon. I could expect this pattern where he would be resting for a moment and then wake suddenly, look around fitfully, make a comment, reflect on it, make eye contact and then return to his prone position. “What do you need Dad?” I would ask. Silence would follow. I would sit and wait for him to make a movement or a sound. I would pick up a book or begin to draw and wait–close by. Being near him was a special experience. All alone with him. Quiet- no distractions/noise from TV or radio. No words needed for long periods of time. Everything slowing way down. Pretty awesome bonding time considering the circumstances.

I wasn’t planning on going back East until mid December, but I heard the detailed reports from my siblings weekly visits and I had this gut feeling it was time to see him before it was too late. He has been on a liquid diet for a while now– self-imposed –and more recently in diapers full time. At his age, he has let go of many of his hobbies. His mind, once quite sharp, has been declining steadily since July. Looking back, there were signs he knew this was happening and deflected it by seizing opportunities to tell his famously funny stories. I didn’t want to know or see when his stories were looping–repeating himself again and again. This would soon give way and now, his words now come out short, angry and loud one minute; kind and gracious the next. He can’t tell his stories clearly. He gives up. His voice gives way at times. He says he is mute and is breathing air and that no one can hear him. He despairs. I can hear him the whole time and I reassure him that we don’t have to use words all the time–there are the words of the heart and sitting in the presence of each other is all that is needed. His hearing than returns and all is good again. It is a yo-yo of emotions and a trying situation for those in his presence to see his struggle with being here and participating in daily rhythms. His wife/primary caregiver is showing signs of exhaustion. It is not easy to meet the needs of an aging dementia loved one. She is appreciating the family/friend visits more now than ever to relieve her but more help is needed soon and mostly night care so she can get sleep. The current situation is unsustainable and untenable and this situation could go on for a while.

I am glad I went, but I didn’t really want to see him in this state. Nope. Not what I want to witness–my Dad nearing the end of his life (or at least the quality of life as he knew it to be). After all, It was just a few months ago that he was driving me to the beach. We took in the salt air and walked a little on the sand to look for that perfect sea glass and perfectly round stone. We sat at the table having dinner and conversations. And now I see him deal with his deep frustration and embarrassment of needing help for the daily adult basic functions of eating, bathing/bathroom care, and dressing. His daughters helping him wipe his bottom? No walking without help? He has just a few pants, shirts, gloves, hats, socks–basic and comfortable and warm. He sleeps in his formed and traction shoes and in his warm lightweight jacket. He is comfortable and has limited choices –like for a child, it is best this way and not too overwhelming.

How is it possible that so much could be different in such a short period of time? Dad is pretty much house bound–wheelchair and walker. His car sold in September; his computer more recently. He loves visitors but only for short periods of time. I sit by his bed side and hold his hand. It is so hard for him to ask for what he needs. He is silent and then he is not. He claims he can’t hear with his expensive hearing aids. He wants them fixed and then he wants them gone. Why bother he bemoans? Actually, he can hear without them but the mind is a tricky thing and he has convinced himself they are useless, it is hopeless and Gina (the hearing aid doctor) should know right now–even though it is just the start of the weekend. He says over and over “my pockets are empty” as he puts his fingers in his ears to show me that there are no aids there that are doing any good at all.

In his office, he stares out into the room until his eyes fix on his desk. Take that away he barks-I don’t want this. And this goes too. He is silent for a moment then I see him staring at what? His hand extends. “I can’t reach this but I have no need for it”. I gently take the items off the desk and place them (along with many other items) on the stairs. Out of sight. “Is it gone?” he asks? “Yes, Dad”, I say.. “you don’t need these things now”. I would get up and add it to the growing pile on the stairs. Every day, things get tossed. I watch him closely. I watch his mind as it instinctively knows that to be free of the clutter and the physical things around him, will ultimately make him freer in his mind and body. It seems a bit OCD in nature but the more I reflect on the actions, the more I feel the deep understanding that he taps into when he desires that his outer space is clear and his inner space too.

Nature doesn’t encumber. I watched as my Dad began to swap out the things that don’t matter to him anymore for the things he could find resonance with–the simple rock from the beach, a single bright gerber daisy or carnation flower in a vase–the sound and sight of the birds living near the nature preserve his house backs up to. Those things, he would say, give him comfort; those things give him joy.

And from that place, he can know what is truly needed to pass on… such wisdom in that I know. And, I look around my home and in my life, thinking the same things. What do I really need to hold onto? How can I clear my outer world so that I can focus on what is most important? How do I begin to simplify and not burden my family with the things I am attached to.

My Mom died 22 years ago around Thanksgiving. Suddenly. On her terms but not on her timing. As I enter this time of year, I take stock of where I want my precious time, money and life to take me. I feel the grief of having lost a parent and the grief of walking down this road again.

So, I begin to organize my papers, and to let the purging of my stuff begin. I have so much and yet… I hold onto things in the event I can’t replace them. I find myself wearing the same things over and over, but my closets are full. Crazy. How would I ever be able to move if needed if I am weighed down by caring and tending to so much stuff. And to think of my kids in my shoes one day—sorting through my belongings? Ugh. I don’t wish to burden either.

I hope to stay intimately more connected to the plants, animals, and crystals, and in others who also see the healing in caring for the Earth and all her sentient beings. In that there is lightness of being and connection/freedom within my soul. I want to live in that place of joy and inner peace/happiness–that state of mind that is free of clutter/overwhelm. Free of worry. Serving love. To remember what really matters—being in service and appreciating love and beauty in the world.