Day 26 - February 14
Attire is not uppermost in my mind, hasn’t been for months. I found a utilitarian routine to dressing while at father’s. I depended on three work-out sets from Land’s End for everyday. They were comfortable, passable looking, and of course I was always ready for the day when I might actually decide to work out. For trips to doctors and days in the hospital I chose a white blouse and black pants. For dinner guests I simply upgraded the white blouse, keeping one jacket as an option. I discovered a woman can live on a five-outfit rotation.
It’s all about focus. No place exists for pondering fashion choices or beauty enhancements when every movement is focused on caring for another. It happens naturally, like breathing. I did not consciously rise each morning saying, okay now I’ll make sure father can breathe, I’ll make sure he can eat, walk, and sleep. Instead I woke up, walked through the day and automatically focused on his every need without thinking about it--it simply happened.
Commenting one time, my children marveled at my devotion to father every minute of our time together. I was surprised to hear their comments, not having seen my role as a servant, not having felt the least bit of pressure to serve. That's not to say I didn't tire, but it’s all about being in the moment, and doing what needs to be done. Without focus, we often don’t know what it is we need to do. I’m thankful for the learning experience, the opportunity to walk with such purpose and follow instinctively the path laid out in front of me.
With funeral home calling hours one day away however, a new focus creeps into this day. I turn to Harold and declare, “I have nothing to wear!”
It has been a very long time since I shopped in a mall. I don’t know where to start, and frankly don’t want to start. I settle quickly on a matronly suit to get it over with and go home. Then, dissatisfied with the purchase, having had a little taste of the shopping experience, it starts to come back to me. “Harold, I should have gone to Chico’s!”
Calling information on my cell, we discover one Chico’s exists in the Rochester area, in Pittsford. A Starbuck’s camps next door! Armed with an iced venti latte, I walk through the entrance into a familiar shop of possibilities. I’ve been away so long.
“May I help you look for something?”
Accustomed to living in a world of straightforward tasks, I blurt out, “Yes, my father died this week and I need something to wear to the funeral home and also to the funeral the next day.”
Sharon offers her condolences and with quiet confidence assures me she will help find exactly what I need. And she does. After trying on forty, or perhaps more, outfits and combinations of outfits, I cash out of Chico’s relaxed and relieved. Sharon shopped for me, searched the back for special items when necessary, and left me alone to decide. She focused on me and my need to be dressed for father’s funeral.
Chico’s rules.
We dine with Bobby, Ben and Sarah this evening. Elim Fellowship and the church, focused on care, have completely stocked the kitchen of a vacant apartment across from father’s. Early in the week Margie and Dick filled the fridge with salads, cold cuts, fruit, bread, bagels, eggs, water, pop, cheeses and more--filled to the brim. They also stocked the cabinets with cereal, tea, coffee, honey, jelly, paper goods, and pastries--you name it, the kitchen has it--all for our family and our out of town guests. Marie and David brought in a large dining room table and chairs.
In this no-longer empty apartment we welcome another fabulous dinner from volunteers, set a candlelight and lace table the length of the living room, and share stories throughout our meal.
This Valentine’s Day Harold and I do not exchange gifts or cards. We do exchange knowing we loved father, we lost him, and now we are there for each other.
We feel the warmth of father’s community all around us in this candlelit room.
It’s all about focus. No place exists for pondering fashion choices or beauty enhancements when every movement is focused on caring for another. It happens naturally, like breathing. I did not consciously rise each morning saying, okay now I’ll make sure father can breathe, I’ll make sure he can eat, walk, and sleep. Instead I woke up, walked through the day and automatically focused on his every need without thinking about it--it simply happened.
Commenting one time, my children marveled at my devotion to father every minute of our time together. I was surprised to hear their comments, not having seen my role as a servant, not having felt the least bit of pressure to serve. That's not to say I didn't tire, but it’s all about being in the moment, and doing what needs to be done. Without focus, we often don’t know what it is we need to do. I’m thankful for the learning experience, the opportunity to walk with such purpose and follow instinctively the path laid out in front of me.
With funeral home calling hours one day away however, a new focus creeps into this day. I turn to Harold and declare, “I have nothing to wear!”
It has been a very long time since I shopped in a mall. I don’t know where to start, and frankly don’t want to start. I settle quickly on a matronly suit to get it over with and go home. Then, dissatisfied with the purchase, having had a little taste of the shopping experience, it starts to come back to me. “Harold, I should have gone to Chico’s!”
Calling information on my cell, we discover one Chico’s exists in the Rochester area, in Pittsford. A Starbuck’s camps next door! Armed with an iced venti latte, I walk through the entrance into a familiar shop of possibilities. I’ve been away so long.
“May I help you look for something?”
Accustomed to living in a world of straightforward tasks, I blurt out, “Yes, my father died this week and I need something to wear to the funeral home and also to the funeral the next day.”
Sharon offers her condolences and with quiet confidence assures me she will help find exactly what I need. And she does. After trying on forty, or perhaps more, outfits and combinations of outfits, I cash out of Chico’s relaxed and relieved. Sharon shopped for me, searched the back for special items when necessary, and left me alone to decide. She focused on me and my need to be dressed for father’s funeral.
Chico’s rules.
We dine with Bobby, Ben and Sarah this evening. Elim Fellowship and the church, focused on care, have completely stocked the kitchen of a vacant apartment across from father’s. Early in the week Margie and Dick filled the fridge with salads, cold cuts, fruit, bread, bagels, eggs, water, pop, cheeses and more--filled to the brim. They also stocked the cabinets with cereal, tea, coffee, honey, jelly, paper goods, and pastries--you name it, the kitchen has it--all for our family and our out of town guests. Marie and David brought in a large dining room table and chairs.
In this no-longer empty apartment we welcome another fabulous dinner from volunteers, set a candlelight and lace table the length of the living room, and share stories throughout our meal.
This Valentine’s Day Harold and I do not exchange gifts or cards. We do exchange knowing we loved father, we lost him, and now we are there for each other.
We feel the warmth of father’s community all around us in this candlelit room.
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