Old Friends and Photographs

Missing the Man in the Mirror 

My sister shared a photo of Dad recently and just commented, "Missing this man"

I smiled at the image and replied "Me too"

Its been a few weeks since we said our final goodbyes to Dad and although I have not shed tears every day I have missed him every day. 

When I retired 6 years ago, Dad became a huge part of my weekly routine. Monday we did his shopping and collected his prescription. Tuesday we organised a visit to the pub. Wednesday was cleaning and foot soaking day and Thursday was the sing a long at the local pub.. Friday he went for a pint with Uncle Colin and I ordered his taxi and Saturday was a day off with Sunday being a carvery or a meal out at another local pub.

In between there were hospital visits, chiropodist appointments and visits to the local barbers! I have a file full of Dad’s hospital appointments and another one full of his chequebooks. 

On Tuesday 24th August 2021 at 12.05am all that stopped!  

My routine would no longer include Dad and I hadn’t realised in that moment how much I was going to miss him.

We are all guilty of getting annoyed and frustrated at our elderly parents and I am no exception. Ironically it is those annoying little habits that I am now missing the most.

The way he tested the door 4 times after it was locked. The way he picked out the bits of strawberry in his strawberry trifle, the little whistle he made when he was getting bored with your conversation. His insistence on having Gammon Steak for a meal then spending the next 20 minutes using a toothpick to dislodge all those bits stuck in the gaps of his teeth! The way he washed his fingers rather than his hands and his fascination with the words on the beer mat. 

I miss the guy that placed beer mats over his pint pot, smiled at his reflection in the mirror and never went anywhere without lip balm and a toothpick. I miss the guy who never carried a wallet or paid for anything with loose change, instead he saved all his copper and silver coins in a box for when the grandkids went on holiday!

I miss the man who was always cold and hated flies. I miss cups of tea and crossword puzzles and reading the obituary page in the Barnsley Chronicle. 
I miss his selective hearing and his chat up lines. I miss his continual desire to get on an aeroplane and travel somewhere hot, not forgetting his need for the toilet just before getting on a plane, train or automobile.
I miss the guy who always stayed in the background supporting those he loved and cared about. I miss the guy who was a man of principle and strong opinions. This no doubt lost him some friends and most certainly lost him access to a few pubs in the village but it most definitely gained him respect amongst his work colleagues and his friends.

On the day of his funeral the church was full. This was an indication to me of how much he was loved and respected and how many other people were going to miss him.

 I had the privilege of  being  able to stand at the front of the church with my two sisters and read his eulogy. I called it Dad’s Dash or The Measure of the Man. The dash referred to the small dash on the headstone between birth and death. Although the dash is small it represents a whole life. As I was reading the eulogy I tried to take a mental picture of all those who had taken the time to come to church to remember Dad. 

There were old friends, relatives, carers, neighbours and drinking pals. 
But there were two guys sitting near the front of the church that I couldn't quite place. They followed us to the graveside and took one of the roses we offered and smiled as they placed the rose into the ground. I heard one of them say,
“There you go Gebber! See you on the other side!”
Later at the pub they came to find us holding three photographs of Dad as a young man. They were keen to add to Dad’s Dash! 

They introduced themselves as old friends and talked fondly of the young man they knew as “Gebber” A school friend and a work colleague. A guy who gave most of his wage to his mother but who saved up for a car and then took all his mates to the seaside for a day trip. They said he always said he wanted a big car and they were pleased to learn that he treated himself to a Bentley. They didn't realise he became a councillor or a JP but remarked that he was always someone who spoke his mind so it didn't surprise them.

They picked him out in the old photographs and they remembered the young man who played football for the youth club and who played the bugle in the boys brigade. 
They lost touch with him when he married mum. Apparently word on the street was that he’d met quite a catch with a ready-made family and they were sorry that they never met mum. Ironically they read the Barnsley Chronicle and that's how they had learned that he had died! They had come to the church together to remember their friend 50 yrs. after losing touch! 

That was the measure of the man. 
Once met…. always remembered and missed by many for lots of different reasons. 

We celebrated Dad’s birthday recently. He would have been 82. He wasn't with us in person but he was certainly with us in spirit. We went to his local pub. Drank his favourite beer and talked about him all night. We even read beer mats and took toothpicks!

Dad will be missed and I have no doubt that there will be many moments of sadness as we come to terms with our loss. However I also know that there will memories that make us laugh and most of those will include his quirky ways and his annoying little habits.
If you have an elderly relative or friend who is driving you mad with their quirky little ways, rest assured that in time those odd little habits will be the things that make you smile so treasure them and remember them and add them to your "Dash." 

A Date with Dad

 Don Williams, Diet Coke and Dripping Sandwiches

Last week I found myself sobbing into my diet coke and reflecting on how I came to be sitting in the local pub on a Thursday night, swaying and smiling and crying with a group of lovely people, all pushing 80, singing old songs from their youth!

At the time, Ron was singing a song for his wife on their diamond-wedding anniversary. She had died last year and he cried as he sang this old Don Williams classic. We all felt for him and sang along to the chorus to show our support

“You placed gold on my finger

You brought love like I'd never known

You gave life to our children

And to me a reason to go on

You were my bread when I was hungry

You were my shelter from troubled winds

You were my anchor in life's ocean

But most of all you were my best friend”

Dad singing along with Ron in the background

I’m here with my dad. He suffered a broken leg more than three months ago and this is his weekly outing to the pub. The only way he can get here is if I taxi him there and back. At first it was a bit of inconvenience but as the weeks have passed I have come to appreciate how important these three hours are to my dad and I find myself learning new things about him every week.

Apparently “57 Chevrolet” by Billie Jo Spears is one of Dads favourite songs. Shirley sings it for him and dad laughs as he joins in on the chorus.

“They don't make cars like they used to

I wish we still had it today

The love we first tasted, the good love we're still living

We owe it to that old '57 Chevrolet”

As Shirley sings, dad talks fondly of his first car and how he always fancied a Chevrolet.

When Joyce sings “Three Coins in a Fountain” he recalls a time when he and mum went to visit Trevi Fountain in Rome and they threw in 3 coins just like in the movie.

I’ve also discovered that dad knows all the words to “Gypsy Woman” and if anyone sings a Jim Reeves song he can be sure to scowl at the depressing lyrics.

Its little snippets of information like this that I would miss if I weren’t sitting with dad at his local. It takes up just 3hrs of my week and now it’s not an inconvenience but something I am sort of beginning to enjoy.

We usually arrive at Dad’s a couple of hours early to help him get ready and look his best! Sadly no matter how hard he tries he will never really look his best. He wears clothes that are at least one size too big for him and he looks much older than his 76 years. He struggles to bend his knee and I can see the frustration on his face as he once again has to ask me to tie his shoelaces.

Since dad broke his leg, life has changed so much for him. Everything is such an effort but on a Thursday night he makes the effort!

Thursday seems to be the only day he has a shave and wears a shirt! I smile as he grins when he announces he is wearing clean underwear. He knows that I don't believe him, but he also knows I’m not going to physically check!

Just before we leave the house he takes a look in the mirror and always asks, “Will I do?”

He then walks towards the front door with his frame, stooping and limping as he avoids placing weight on his injured leg Yet he smiles and mumbles to himself in his broad Yorkshire accent

“Come on you old man get thi sen going”

He checks the door 4 times to make sure it’s locked. We pass the 1984 Bentley Mulsane standing proudly on his drive and check that that's locked too. Then we approach his Rover 75, 15 years old with only 35,000 miles on the clock and he checks that that too is locked. He trundles up the drive with his walker and I know he must be wondering when he will be fit enough to get behind the wheel again. The truth is he’s not been safe behind the wheel for a few years so to me, this injury is a blessing in disguise!

Getting into our car takes another 10 minutes as Dad negotiates the walker the car door, the car seat and the seat belt, all the time cursing his bloody knees and his daft leg!

It takes me 5 minutes to drive to the pub but another 10 minutes to get dad out of the car as he once again struggles with the aforementioned car seat, car door and walking frame!

Just outside the pub there is a tattooed guy having a smoke but he notices dad approaching with his walker and he holds the door open telling dad to take his time.

“ Come on old fella” he says, “they’re playing your song!”

The first pint always goes down well

Getting to the pub has been such an effort and such hard work but he arrives at the bar with a huge grin on his face and orders 2 pints of John Smiths and pint of Diet Coke! That first pint hardly touches the sides!

The first time we took him to the pub after his fall he was greeted with smiles and good old Yorkshire humour

“We thought you’d deed, t’old fella”, announced Norman from behind his organ.

“You can’t kill me off that easy,” replied dad as he admired his freshly pulled pint of John Smiths!

For the first couple of weeks I casually observed the regulars and smiled as they approached Norman the organist holding old notebooks full of handwritten lyrics.

Each one who took to the floor looked really smart. The guys were wearing matching shirt and tie and a pair of braces to add to the effect, the ladies were all colour coordinated with matching jewellery and shiny shoes wearing trouser suits or twin sets. Now I understand why looking smart is so important to dad. In his day dad was a good looking guy and all these women would have been proud to walk out with him. Here he has competition and I think he knows he’s not the man he used to be. That said it never stops him making a pass at the young woman behind the bar or any of the widowed women we sit with!

In between songs I try to talk to these widowed women. Mary and Joyce are both profoundly deaf but their friend Beryl repeats everything I say very loudly and they smile and nod at me and we all know they still have no idea what I just said!

About 10.00pm there’s a break when the barmaid produces a plate of dripping sandwiches on plain white bread! I find myself becoming strangely nostalgic as I tuck into my dripping sandwich and try to enjoy my diet coke!

This was how it used to be back in the day of WMCs.I can vaguely remember sitting in the local club with my nan and my aunties singing along with the turn on the stage. We took our own sandwiches and mum and her sisters had a little bottle of gin in their handbags as the guys brought tonics from the bar!

Today it’s the age of gastro pubs and Wetherspoons.  Locals are closing and with the decline of WMCs it is little pubs like this one that are keeping that old community spirit alive.

Dad makes his last pint last forever

I understand why Dad wants to come here every week. Its full of like-minded people and it serves good beer. For three hours every week he is in his comfort zone having been thrown out of it when he broke his leg back in April.

Its true to say that if Dad had not broken his leg I would never had had the pleasure of watching dad smile and sing amongst a group of people who don't really know him but are always pleased to see him.

Dad has a long journey ahead of him so our Thursday night at his local will be a regular part of our weekly routine. I am finding things out about dad that he wouldn't think of sharing with me and I am discovering a guy who is probably the man that mum fell in love with all those years ago.

Meanwhile I have been and bought dad some clothes that fit him and a pair of slip on shoes. I’ve also bought myself  a notebook to jot down those little pieces of information that make up my dad’s life.

You never know I may even use the notebook to write down some lyrics to an old song I might find amongst the record collection in dads garage.

Pity I can’t sing…maybe I’ll learn!

Dads, Daughters and a Dodgy Filter

Dads, Daughters and a Dodgy Filter

Or

Advice for the “Buffer Generation”

There is a cry from the next room. Someone you love needs you. You look at the clock and its 3am. It seems that you have only just gone to sleep but that was 3 hours ago. You drag yourself out of bed and go to them with a smile and hopefully they don't sense that you are a little annoyed at being awoken from a lovely dream. You love them, reassure them, and make sure they are comfortable before you go back to bed knowing full well that you will be awake again in another 3 or 4 hours.

If you are a parent you will be able to remember nights like this. As parents we love and care unconditionally. We know that this is a short-term phase and eventually our children will grow up and we will not be needed as much.

But this is not my child that I am caring for, it’s my dad. As I help him out of bed and change his wet sheets and reassure him that its OK I reflect on how this time of my life has so many similarities to when I was a young mother.

When I knew I was going to be a mum I was ready for the sleepless nights and the endless washing. I knew there would be terrible twos and even worse teens. I knew I would be responsible for ensuring my children had good manners and respect for others. What I didn't know was that this would be repeated when I was an adult caring for an elderly parent and I now realise I am not at all prepared for what is ahead of me.

Dad is 76 and my sisters and me often describe him as someone who seems to have “lost his filter”

I have to remind him to be polite and remember his please and thank yous. I am at times embarrassed by his inappropriate remarks to perfectly innocent strangers and I have to make sure he maintains his personal hygiene!

I have indeed reverted to being the bossy parent whilst Dad displays all the traits of toddler to teenager in the same day!

I think I would have continued taking on the role of “bossy daughter” had dad not been admitted to hospital. He was in a ward with 2 other elderly gentlemen. They never had a visitor in 2 days! I chatted to them and found them to be interesting guys each with a story to tell. Their family lived away and they were very proud of their children’s achievements. Like dad, these were very proud men who did not want to be a burden but knew that they were.

I observed Dad while he was in hospital and he too charmed all who met him. Most people who have met my dad find him endearing. He’s a sociable chap and full of knowledge. He can hold a conversation about anything and everyone who meets him remembers him. I began to wonder why I found him so annoying and frustrating. With other people he was pleasant and polite but with me he was demanding and seemingly ungrateful.

It made me think about getting old and how difficult it must be. I began to realise how impatient I may have been with dad. I realised that I did not want to nag him as I nagged my children; I want to learn from him and spend quality time with him.

I actually wanted to have the same conversation with dad that I had with the two other guys on the ward. I wanted to be a daughter rather than a carer. I realised that caring for dad was making me resentful.

So I took time to read leaflets and talk to professionals. I realised I needed to get prepared in the same way I prepared to be a new parent.

I searched the Internet for articles on caring for an elderly parent. Just needing reassurance that the behaviour he was displaying is normal and that my feelings towards him were normal too.

Dad is now recovering at home.  I know I am beginning yet another learning journey. Just as I wrote my accounts of being a parent I now find myself writing an account of being a daughter who wants to care for her elderly dad without being his carer.

Since returning home from hospital Dad is actually no different. He still needs reminding about his manners and his filter still doesn't work but I think I have changed. I have stopped nagging him to brush his teeth and have a shower. If he wants to drink, and stay up all night, then that's up to him. He is old and weak but he still has most of his marbles!

I have made arrangements for professional carers to persuade him to change his underpants more than once a month and convince him that taking a shower will not make his nose bleed! I am now nagging social services rather than my dad to ensure he gets the care he needs to lead an independent life without having to rely on the love and support of his family.

So if you too are one of the “buffer generation” who spends their time either looking after elderly parents or babysitting for your grandchildren then take time to step back and smile when your dad asks the young nurse for her phone number and encourages her to sit on his knee. Don’t correct him when he complains that the hospital food must have been cooked by one of those immigrants and just excuse him when he asks for reassurance that the Indian doctor treating him is not a Muslim and likely to kill him rather than cure him!

Just accept that his filter doesn't work and it’s not your problem. Enjoy his company and act as daft as him!