Watching My Parents Age From Afar
When You Know You’re Unlikely to See Your Parents Take Their Last Breath
Forgive the morbid tone to start the year. While confetti rains from the sky and lovers kiss at midnight, I dared not utter: “This will be my year”. I approach this year with a bit of fear and trepidation.
My dad is currently in the midst of a rather pessimistic medical prognosis.
Two days ago, I hopped on the plane and flew home to visit the man I viewed as a giant. Yet the grey-haired man who greeted me was a little more stooped and frailer than the last time I saw him. His mind is less sharp; he tires easier. It scares me to face the truth: my father is, after all, mortal.
Yesterday, we celebrated my 36th birthday together. The last time I saw my father on my birthday, I was 21 years old. My dad turned 48 that year. He was not at his prime but full of life. I took everything for granted and thought it was tacky. My parents gave me a bouquet, a diamond necklace and a big box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. I wanted to spread my wings, escape their neediness and see the world. That year, I made my decision to make Australia my home. I thought I had all the time to spend with my dad.
Life can be cruel. I didn’t realise back then that I would only see them once a year, sometimes once every couple of years. Every time I saw my parents, it was one less time I would see them again. Separated by oceans and continents, every little natural part of aging is amplified each time I see them. It keeps me up at night, knowing that there is a real possibility I may not be there to see them when they draw their last breath. Yet, with my husband and son living overseas, this is a moving train that cannot turn back.
I’m incredibly grateful to have celebrated my birthday with him this year, and I wish for more birthdays with him by my side.
