Making Dad Proud

One of the most challenging things I’ve had to face in my life was losing my father – a man who was my mentor, my hero, my best friend -- a man who stepped up to the plate back in the 60s to become a single parent to me and my baby sister, and showed us by example what it meant to be an extraordinary human being.

My father was a special person for countless reasons, but one that always impressed me the most was that he never spoke negatively about anyone… not even my mother – a woman who:

• abandoned her 2 children to have 5 more failed marriages
• became a chronic alcoholic, and
• lived with a load of emotional baggage and heartache that she unloaded on us at every opportunity

I wrote a book dedicated to the memory of my father: Mindful Wisdom from my Philosopher Dad – Sage Advice from a Single Father because I wanted to immortalize his memory and pay tribute to the wonderful person he was. It was also my way of processing my grief, and it was instrumental in helping me finally forgive my mother… and myself. 

It took me 10 years to finish Philosopher Dad because every time I sat down to write another chapter I was consumed by sadness, so it was easier to just walk away that day; and then that day turned into a week, and the week turned into a month, and the process would repeat itself until the months turned into another year!

I used to joke with people that if you looked up the word “procrastination” in the dictionary you’d likely see my picture with the definition.

But this was more than just procrastination. This was my unwillingness to sit with the sadness and feel the pain of the grief. Instead, I would just avoid it -- and I would self-medicate with booze and drugs to numb and deaden the emotions. Oh yes, I was a “high functioning” addict for a long time. For most of my adult life I imbibed alcohol as an anaesthetic to endure the operation of life! I had been socially conditioned by all the experts who say I’m genetically predisposed to the “disease” because I had descended from a long line of addicts -- so it just became easier for me to live in that reality for many, many years.

When Dad was 75, he was told that he had Alzheimer’s. It was shocking news because he was in such great shape… better shape than I was! Just a couple of years before his diagnosis we had worked together in my backyard to transform it from a bleak barren wasteland into a serene and welcoming oasis. He worked like an ox. Thirty years his junior and I couldn’t keep up with his tireless pace.

I was still working in the broadcasting industry in those days -- where I had toiled in the muck of negative news for over 20 years. That, in itself, was starting to take a toll on my health but I continued working in the industry because it was all I knew… it had defined me. What would I do, if I didn’t “do” radio?! Who would I be?!!!

I had pursued journalism as a career because it was a path of least resistance for me. Writing came easy for me. English, grammar, and literature were all my favourite subjects in school. I was an excellent “reader” and was blessed with a “radio voice.” All of these things, combined with my father’s love of listening to CBC radio (considered the upper-crust in media circles), pushed me into a vocation of broadcasting. It made my Dad proud, I thought.

It wasn’t until we were working together in the back yard that summer that I learned my Dad would be proud of me regardless of what I was doing. When I confided to him one day that I was feeling beaten up by all the bad news I had to face every day he said, “Life is very short, so don’t spend time doing something you don’t enjoy even if it offers great pay and security because nobody is ever on their death-bed wishing they’d spent more time at work!”

Dad was living within walking distance of my house those days and I saw him nearly every day. That was something I had longed for while I was growing up, and it was now my reality. But, in retrospect, I wasn’t grateful for the time we had together. I’d always find myself driving home from work, exhausted, and going past his apartment building without stopping by to have a visit. It didn’t even cross my mind that I should be relishing these opportunities because I had wished for them so many times during childhood. I was living my life on auto-pilot -- a regret I still have to accept and forgive myself for every day.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy to make the decision to move to Spain. My brother-in-law was running a successful business in Mallorca - the largest Balearic Island and the 2nd largest yachting port in Europe – where he was re-furbishing the interior of yachts for the rich. He needed a project manager he could trust and offered the job to my husband.

We travelled there to visit, to see how it felt, and to see if it would be a good decision to move there permanently. We had always dreamed of retiring to a warm place, so this was certainly shaping up to be a nice opportunity.

I was also growing to hate my job, my substance abuse was escalating, and Dad had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I saw this shaping up to be a great way to escape.

It became an easier decision to make after my sister decided to renovate her basement into a bachelor apartment so Dad could move there. Her son, Tyler, was 18 and would remain in high school until he was 21 (as was the normal procedure for all special needs students in Ontario). Tyler was born with Williams Syndrome, a neuro-developmental disorder that would keep him frozen in time as a perpetual 5-year-old – dealing with heart and kidney issues for his lifetime. My sister is an amazon… having raised Tyler as a single mom while climbing the corporate ladder in the banking industry. Both she and Dad thought the move to Spain was a tremendous opportunity and one that my husband and I should take. Dad was adamant that I should move to Spain without any regrets. He said, “You staying here won’t change my outcome. Go and live your life.”

So I went.

We sold everything and moved to Spain -- with the intention of staying there forever.

My sister was now left to take care of what remained of my father’s life… a life that dealt him a hand of raising 2 little girls on his own. A life that saw him toiling at a job he hated because it afforded us a good lifestyle. A life that was drawing to a close by the most frightening means possible for him – a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. He once told me that he’d rather have been told he was dying from cancer because “at least then I’d know what I’m facing.”

I used to talk to him from Spain every few days. Some days were good and some were bad. Chantal said the disease ravaged him faster than she expected. She’d be getting ready for work, getting Tyler ready for school, and Dad would be yelling to her from the basement asking for help getting dressed. He was becoming feeble very quickly, as Parkinson’s-like symptoms started to take over his physicality. 

Chantal came home from work one day to find a police car and fire truck parked outside her place. Dad had called 911 to report a fire. There was no fire. The police and fire officials informed her that another non-emergency call to 911 could result in a fine. 

I can’t even imagine having to go to work every day wondering if my father was going to fall down the stairs or call 911 with another imagined fire, but my sister faced that every day for over a year.  I can only imagine what it must have been like to watch our father lose his mind. She even managed to arrange a visit to us in Spain for 10 days! She said it was probably the last time I’d see Dad alive. I couldn’t believe how much he had deteriorated in just the few months I’d been gone. During one of our tours around the city Dad’s legs literally stopped moving and it was a major traffic incident to get him from the main square into our car.

That’s why I was shocked to learn that he was going on a trip to the Dominican Republic with his best friend shortly after he returned from that trip to Spain! Chantal was powerless to do anything because he was still mentally sharp most days. Other than the physical manifestation of Parkinsons that would creep in now and then (like they had in Spain several times) he, otherwise, appeared to be fine. His friend assured her that he’d “take good care of him.”

Within days of their departure, Chantal received a call from the friend, saying that Dad was in a hospital. He had fallen while getting off a bus and the ambulance took him to a hospital hours away from where they were staying. When the friend managed to get to the hospital he said Dad had been, “shackled to the bed because staff said he kept wanting to leave.”

Chantal had to arrange for an ambulance to meet them at the Toronto airport and transport him to a nearby hospital where a doctor signed an urgency order to have him admitted to a long-term-care facility. It would still be months living at Chantal’s before he would see a bed become available nearby. 

Before I had left for Spain, Dad and I had gone to visit several extended-care facilities (we were careful to never call them nursing homes), and he ended up moving into one of his top 3 choices -- which still didn’t make the transition any easier.

I made the trip from Spain to see him through the move and spend some time with him. I had just finished a 30-day stint at a rehab on mainland Spain and needed a change of environment… so the timing was – for lack of a better word – perfect.

It was wonderful to see Chantal and Tyler again, and staying with them was always a big comfort to me. I’d lost count of how many times she was my soft place to fall.

Spending time with Dad at the “care facility” was as good as it could be. We’d often eat together, and the staff was great to lend us the portable wheelchair so we could escape together to go on day trips. He used to love the coffee and cinnamon buns at Ikea! I wish I’d taken more pictures.

“Pain is inevitable because it touches all of us eventually. Suffering, however, is optional.” This was a quote from the mother of Sean Stephenson who imparted that wisdom to me during my interview with him several years ago. Sean lives with a brittle bone disease that leaves him 3 feet tall and using a wheelchair; but, his condition - and his reality - didn’t prevent him from becoming a psychotherapist, a motivational speaker, and a self-help author. 

I was determined to not let the pain of this new reality descend into suffering, and I was determined to finish my book while Dad was still alive so we could celebrate it together. But, I didn’t manage to finish the book before he died -- and I did end up suffering for many years.

The path of self awareness, self acceptance, self forgiveness, and self love is demanding and gruelling at times, but it’s a journey worth taking to eventually experience a lasting spiritual comfort. 

I have finally attained sobriety and lasting spiritual comfort, and I’m finally doing something that feeds my soul -- something for which I know my Dad would be proud!

Today is a gift that holds the miracle of our lives, and you will experience lasting spiritual comfort and contentment when you start expressing gratitude for each miracle you unwrap in your life every day. Carpe diem.

My wish for you is to always

Laugh Often ==> Love Always ==> Be Mindful…. And Stay Positive,

Your perpetually positive pal,

Tanya

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Tanya MacIntyre is a Mindfulness Mentor, and producer/host of The Good News Only radio show (where you only hear GOOD things to feel GOOD).

She created her Mindfulness Manifesto -- a Triple A 7-Day Formula to Make Peace with Your Stress -- that you can access free at her website.

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