Same Eyes

?One of the most alarming, (and saddening), trends emerging from this pandemic is the impact it continues to have on our seniors. All over the country, nursing homes where many of these precious souls reside are reporting a disproportionate amount of cases. This phenomenon hits home as for the better part of the last two years my father called these facilities home.

The balance of that time was spent in one just down the road from the hospital where his primary physician practiced. It was a nice place and the family grew to appreciate their efforts, but my father didn’t particularly care for it. So, for what became his last few weeks of life my brother, ever the negotiator, secured a room in a brand spanking new location. Now, a new location meant a lot of things. It meant a nicer room -- without a roommate, better food, a real view and -- a new staff.

First chance I got I drove down to see him and meet this new team charged with his care. I walked in, looked around and I must say … I was impressed. I slowly took it all in before landing at the Information Desk to find which room the old soldier was resting in. Before I could ask, the clerk yelled, “Room 101. You’re here to see Mr. Pearcey, right?” “I am, but how’d you know?” She tilted her head, smiled, and said, “Easy … you’ve got your father’s eyes …”

***

My father had a million and one running tips and he would readily share them with anyone who cared to listen. Police officers, firemen, soldiers, coaches – it didn’t matter if you asked, he would share. Until I hear it again, I’ll hold fast to that jovial little voice of his, tinged with sincerity, laced with love, spoken as only a father could. “A short run is better than no run …put a slice of lemon in your mouth to keep it moist … if you ain’t got a lemon, get you some peppermint, make sure you stretch … and for God’s sake … don’t carry a stick.”

Of all his tips the one he emphasized the most was running without a stick. We’ve all seen it before. A runner in a sweat-drenched shirt, trudging along with a look that’s equal parts determination and submission … carrying a stick to ward off danger. Irony of ironies was that with his advanced age, he was the most vulnerable person on the road, but he never carried one.

His prayers were his stick and during one of our runs they were put to the test when a monster of a dog came rushing toward us. I panicked and began to flee. He grabbed my shirt and calmly stepped in front of me, bent down and held out his hand. Seconds later that dog – the one who looked for all the world like he would be our end, was nothing more than a big piece of putty laying on his back enjoying a belly rub courtesy of my father. You got to love him …

***

Seems like yesterday, but a lifetime has passed since that incident took place. The further I get away from it the more the beauty of it all resonates. I know now that day wasn’t about a run, a dog, or anything of the sort. It wasn’t even about him being there. It was a reminder of what to do when he’s no longer here to stand in front of me. It was him telling me to remember what you prayed for and how at the darkest hour, those prayers will be tested; don’t run.

Most importantly, it was about making sure when that day came … I knew my eyes looked just like his.