About 34 years ago, I had my last visit with my Dad prior to his dying a short time later. I ran across this poem and was reminded of the poignancy of that last visit. It was eerily similar to this story, and was my most significant moment as a caregiver...however brief. I was just over forty, and he was recovering from quadruple by-pass heart surgery.
The poem is my Father's Day sharing of that time, and...to honor the caregivers among us.
'Ablution'---By Amy Fleury
Because one must be naked to get clean,
my Dad shrugs out of his pajama shirt,
steps from his boxers and into the tub
as I brace him...whose long illness
has made him shed modesty, too.
Seated on the plastic bench, he holds
the soap like a caught fish in his lap,
waiting for me to test the water's heat
on my wrist before turning the nozzle
toward his pale skin. He leans over
to be doused, then hands me the soap
so I might scrub his shoulders and neck,
suds sluicing from spine to buttock cleft.
Like a child, he wants a washcloth
to cover his eyes while I lather
a palmful of pearlescent shampoo
into his craniotomy-scarred scalp
and then rinse clear wh**ever soft hair
is left. Our voices echo in the spray
and steam of this room where once,
long ago, he knelt at the tub's edge
to pour cups of bathwater over my head.
He reminds me to wash behind his ears,
and when he judges himself to be clean,
I turn off the tap. He grips the safety bar,
steadies himself, and stands. Turning to me,
his body is dripping and frail and pink.
And, although I am nearly forty,
he has this one last thing to teach me.
I hold open the towel to receive him.
A footnote: It is my wish that each and every Dad out there is Blessed and cherished this Father's Day.
slatten49 wrote:
About 34 years ago, I had my last visit with my Dad prior to his dying a short time later. I ran across this poem and was reminded of the poignancy of that last visit. It was eerily similar to this story, and was my most significant moment as a caregiver...however brief. I was just over forty, and he was recovering from quadruple by-pass heart surgery.
The poem is my Father's Day sharing of that time, and...to honor the caregivers among us.
'Ablution'---By Amy Fleury
Because one must be naked to get clean,
my Dad shrugs out of his pajama shirt,
steps from his boxers and into the tub
as I brace him...whose long illness
has made him shed modesty, too.
Seated on the plastic bench, he holds
the soap like a caught fish in his lap,
waiting for me to test the water's heat
on my wrist before turning the nozzle
toward his pale skin. He leans over
to be doused, then hands me the soap
so I might scrub his shoulders and neck,
suds sluicing from spine to buttock cleft.
Like a child, he wants a washcloth
to cover his eyes while I lather
a palmful of pearlescent shampoo
into his craniotomy-scarred scalp
and then rinse clear wh**ever soft hair
is left. Our voices echo in the spray
and steam of this room where once,
long ago, he knelt at the tub's edge
to pour cups of bathwater over my head.
He reminds me to wash behind his ears,
and when he judges himself to be clean,
I turn off the tap. He grips the safety bar,
steadies himself, and stands. Turning to me,
his body is dripping and frail and pink.
And, although I am nearly forty,
he has this one last thing to teach me.
I hold open the towel to receive him.
A footnote: It is my wish that each and every Dad out there is Blessed and cherished this Father's Day.
About 34 years ago, I had my last visit with my Da... (
show quote)
Thanks Slatten we may have political differences, at three my time I'll be skyping with my adopted daughter. And maybe see her daughter.
MidnightRider wrote:
Thanks Slatten we may have political differences, at three my time I'll be skyping with my adopted daughter. And maybe see her daughter.
I truly wish you the best for Father's Day.
[quote=slatten49]About 34 years ago, I had my last visit with my Dad prior to his dying a short time later. I ran across this poem and was reminded of the poignancy of that last visit. It was eerily similar to this story, and was my most significant moment as a caregiver...however brief. I was just over forty, and he was recovering from quadruple by-pass heart surgery.
The poem is my Father's Day sharing of that time, and...to honor the caregivers among us.
'Ablution'---By Amy Fleury
Because one must be naked to get clean,
my Dad shrugs out of his pajama shirt,
steps from his boxers and into the tub
as I brace him...whose long illness
has made him shed modesty, too.
Seated on the plastic bench, he holds
the soap like a caught fish in his lap,
waiting for me to test the water's heat
on my wrist before turning the nozzle
toward his pale skin. He leans over
to be doused, then hands me the soap
so I might scrub his shoulders and neck,
suds sluicing from spine to buttock cleft.
Like a child, he wants a washcloth
to cover his eyes while I lather
a palmful of pearlescent shampoo
into his craniotomy-scarred scalp
and then rinse clear wh**ever soft hair
is left. Our voices echo in the spray
and steam of this room where once,
long ago, he knelt at the tub's edge
to pour cups of bathwater over my head.
He reminds me to wash behind his ears,
and when he judges himself to be clean,
I turn off the tap. He grips the safety bar,
steadies himself, and stands. Turning to me,
his body is dripping and frail and pink.
And, although I am nearly forty,
he has this one last thing to teach me.
I hold open the towel to receive him.
A footnote: It is my wish that each and every Dad out there is Blessed and cherished this Father's Day.[/quote
~~~~
Slatten,
I lost mine in 1990, 33 yrs ago too, at age 75.
Think of him often.
Happy fathers Day to all you dad's out there.
👍👍👍😢
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