AGING
The Last Things I Built With My Dad
Constructing memories and a new family heirloom
In the summer of 2021 and 2022, I was blessed with taking care of my Dad. We built things—including our last memories.
A Do-It-Yourself Family
I hold my Dad’s shaking hand to guide an impact driver. He squeezes the trigger, and a screw disappears into the wood. The percussive beat of the driver helps me forget Parkinson’s and dementia are ravaging his body and mind.
His blank stares, his stiff and weakening muscles, and the diaper bulge in his pants tear me apart daily. Then I put myself back together, and we build things. Today, we are constructing a step to help him get into my truck.
“Dad, try to stop when the screw head is flush,” I say.
“Ok, son,” he replies.
“Time flies. Seems like yesterday I was handing you nails as a kid. Now I have to hold your damn hand to drive a screw.”
“And you have to wipe my ass,” he chimes in.
We chuckle as I ready another screw. I’ll know he’s truly gone when his one-liners disappear, and we can’t smile together.
Making light of the situation is part of our coping mechanism. Dad was always…
