Belly of the Beast: The Wild Card - My 80 Year Old Dad

I have lived with my parents for nine months now. While I didn't know what to expect from the experience, I never thought the wild card would be my dad. My quiet, reserved, calm, and harmless dad. Since the beginning of my journey home to the belly of the beast, I have been struggling quite a bit with him. These frustrations have been surprising and confusing and incredibly unfamiliar given the minimal conflict we've had over the years. Unexpectedly, I've gotten so upset by him... 

He spits in the sink without washing the things away. 

He's become radically conservative in the past few years. 

He's stubborn as heck and will only do things his way.  

He's a product of cultural patriarchy and refuses to do anything outside his gender role.

He's emotionally unavailable and has dismissed my sadness. 

He can be cold, distant, and inconsiderate.  

I've been triggered countless times by him. I've snapped. I've been repeatedly impatient with him. I've had more moments lacking compassion than I like to admit. 

I haven't enjoyed feeling these ways about my dad. But I've needed to be with these feelings to understand them. In July, I went to Hawaii with my family for ten long days. It wasn't until I spent time in this inescapable family container did I see with much more clarity the root of this tension with my dad.  My greatest childhood fear, even though it can't ever come true now, has kept me in deep denial about his aging reality. He is 80 years old. He shuffles around. It takes him a few minutes to get out of a car. He can get lost in crowds. His memory has declined significantly. He needs reminders to get clean. He doesn't say much anymore. It seems like I've struggled more with his aging process than he has. 

The truth is, my dad has lived a very long life, and yet, I am still scared of him dying. 

The truth is, no matter how old he is, or how old I am, I will never be fully prepared for him to die. 

Accepting these difficult truths and the reality of his mortality has freed me from the tight tension I've held. Patience and compassion are seeping in with more ease. There's more playfulness and lightheartedness and more capacity to be with and understand Ba just as he is today. 

The most important truth is, my dad is a human being, and he was my first ever spiritual friend. He has his sweet and loving moments. He's funny and a little raunchy. He enjoys food like no one else I've witnessed. He has a super kind smile. He cares a lot about my health. He's found some sort of peace inside. He's honest and lives with integrity. He has a clarity about life that I understand. He may not have been the warm, nurturing father I wanted, but he was the spiritual friend I never knew I needed. From a young age, Ba has been feeding me with such essential wisdom for how to navigate human suffering. I know these moments will be what stays with me when he does leave the earth. For now, I'll continue to do my best accepting and loving him as he is, sink spits and all. ☺