What We Embrace

My father held a lot of babies in his time, five of his own, six grandchildren, and embraced three more.  He watched over the lives of his own dogs, Lucky and Blacky, when he was younger. But this iconic photo is my favorite remembrance because, long after marriages, grandchildren and step-grandchildren, he continued to embrace whoever or whatever graced our household with its presence.

We brought Enzo home at Eastertime. Actually, we picked him up from the breeder that weekend, and as the breeder lived near my parents, Enzo spent his first weekend as part of the family in Amherst.  He slept soundly his first night with us, as if he already knew the love in the house would keep him safe.

I thought of this photo again, after I moved, and I was unpacking boxes of miscellaneous cards that I had randomly stored in a lower drawer of my desk.  I was delighted to find a gift card for a pedicure, which I used promptly following the move, and a certificate to our favorite taco bar, which I was surprised no kids had snuck out of the house to use.  But had I lost any of those in the move or my mess, I would not have shed a tear.  What I treasured rediscovering was a card from my father.

My mother was the sender of greeting cards.  She wrote letters, and cards.  And more letters and cards.  My father did not.  He was a man of few words and even lesser actions when it came to cards.  On special occasions, if one of the kids was making a run to Drug Mart to buy a card for Mom on Mother’s Day or their anniversary, he always pulled us aside to ask if we would buy one for him to give to Mom as well.  We were always happy – forced- to comply, as he was also the procurer of tampons for us during his own Drug Mart runs.

Several years ago, I made a challenging visit to my parents. We were going in search of long term housing for their final stages of life.  My mother had begun her descent into dementia, and my father’s Parkinson had been diagnosed.  Managing those diseases and finding housing to accommodate would be no easy task.  The week was filled with heartening realizations and even tougher words.

I returned to Cincinnati, and fell ill, with a relentless cold.  In subsequent conversations with parents, they learned of my health challenges, and no sooner did I hang up the phone, and a greeting card showed up in the mail.

I was surprised to find my father’s handwriting on the envelope. And even more astonished to view the card that was sent displayed his handwriting on the inside.  The card cover showed a photograph of a Cavalier King Charles, pouting in a stance closely resembling Enzo. Inside, the card read, “Dear Annette,”  (So formal, because he always called me ‘Net Marie.), “I thought you enjoy [sic] this card.” Again, the grammar was not surprising, as he was a man of few words. “Thanks for everything you do for me and mom.”

While the exterior of the card showed my father’s humor and creativity, the interior, the sentiment I treasured most. A man thanking me for supporting the alteration of the course of his and my mother's life. While no one ever rested peacefully with the eventual decisions, I rest peacefully today in my lasting memories of a father who embraced whoever and whatever crossed the threshold of his life.

6/15/2014

AJW