Find A Bench

There was a constant request from my dad whenever he had an appointment that would require travel anywhere near a park, beach or community area, “Why don’t we stop for a while. We can find a bench. We can talk and get a sandwich.”

Many times, over the six and half years that my sister and I took care of him, we did just that. We would stop find a bench or a picnic table. We would talk or maybe just sit and watch birds, people, the ocean. Take the world in at a slower pace.

I understood his wish and how much it meant as I had my own love of benches for refuge.

My dad became sick in January 2015 and at first was treated as though he had a bad flu when actually he was in congestive heart failure. He ended up hospitalized at the same time as my mother who had just learned she had stage 4 kidney cancer and would be going home on hospice. I remember the traumatic week by a bench in the hospital where I used to sit to collect my thoughts.

Both parents were both in the hospital on different floors. I was in a constant struggle of whom do I make sure is okay. At the same time, I still had a very demanding job that I was not able to leave. Family, friends, and medical staff who needed my attention. Often, I felt like I could not breathe.

There was this ordinary bench located in busy hospital passageway that was usually empty. I would go there to be hidden from all, just to catch my breath and remember who I was and where I needed to be the most. It may sound so simple, but since that time I have always looked for benches to find myself again.

My mother passed away in May of 2015. She had always been my best friend as well as my mom. She was an amazing person who lit up the room with her laughter. She was the most caring and genuinely kind person that I have ever known. Yet although I cried, I could not fully grieve for her because my dad needed care.

Six and half years we took care of my dad. My sister and me. My brother would help when he could. My dad wanted to stay living on his own as long as possible. He continued to have severe congestive heart failure and then with the number of diuretics he had to take, severe kidney failure. Although he didn't require 24-hour support, he did require daily care.

In the beginning we often arranged more moments on benches. Always trying to find a way for him to enjoy life with the multiple of medical issues and just as many appointments. As the years progressed, it became more difficult for him to ambulate, so he needed a walker, then a walker with a seat. We still managed to take him to his favorite lake, to the beach or just sit outside somewhere whenever we could.

It was during these days that I would see myself again. My dad would want to talk to me not as his caregiver, but as his daughter. I did not have to pretend to know how to fix things. I was not Cindy, Social Worker (my profession). He would ask how my day was? What did I think about the latest hometown sports team win? Did I watch any new comedy shows? We stayed away from politics most times as he was a staunch Republican, and I am a diehard Democrat, but we would often give jabs about each others candidate. I think my dad got to feel like my father again and not someone who was dependent on me for care.

He started to tell me things I did not know about his own history. Things like he originally wanted to go medical school and his mother, my grandmother, wanted him to become a priest. Then he met my mother, married young and everything changed as he went to work for the post office. He would always comment how life and love changed the best laid plans.

When Covid-19 hit, it put an extra layer of stress on the whole world and my caregiving situation was no different. We tried to keep my dad as safe as possible. He did not get Covid-19, but ended up several times in the hospital because of heart failure.

Each time I took him to the hospital. I was not allowed to enter as there were no visitors due to COVID-19. I knew he was nervous, but I would try to be reassuring and show strength while he was wheeled away and the ER doors would close. I would then turn and cry all the way home.

I met with the staff and dad virtually for discharge planning. I work in elder care as a social worker and have attended many of these conferences. Yet for my own dad I had to wave to him through a computer screen. It was painful to see him in a room with professionals dressed in protective infection control gear while he sat there alone looking helpless.

I had window visits with dad when he was in a nursing home for short term rehabilitation. He was in isolation for weeks which was standard practice at the time. I sat on a bench outside and held up poster boards and spoke as loud as I could for him to hear. Once again trying to hide my tears and be resolute as it broke my heart.

The staff that took care of him were wonderful. He did not get COVID-19, but I did.

My husband and I both had it for many weeks. At this time my dad was home again in his apartment. I stayed away from dad and my sister assisted with all his care. When I did return to help, I had to find benches to catch my own breath.

My dad was one of the first to sign up for COVID-19 vaccine in our state. We waited in line for 2 hours for each dose of the vaccine in my car. He was determined he would not get the virus. During this time it was once again a moment for me to be a daughter and he a dad. We laughed and joked, listened to music. He told me that he read one of my stories on-line.

"You are a pretty good writer. Keep at it!" He said while looking out the window. "That Devon had it coming! I like how you ended the story!" He remarked referring to one of the characters. I teared up because I was so touched that he even read one of my stories. I felt like I was twelve again.

Unfortunately, my dad’s kidney failure led to a blood infection, and he passed away in June of 2021. Three days after Father's Day which also happened to be his birthday is when he said his final goodbye. Life had been so complicated these past couple of years and even though we had many laughs and discussions in my car or at his apartment, we did not get to another park where he could sit and reminisce.

I drove by one the benches where we used to go to on my way home from work last week as I decided to take the long route. I stopped and sat for a while.

Thanks to my dad I have found a place I can go to remember. A place I can go to remember and be still. I can grieve away from the world and take a time out.

A bench where I can sit and feel more alive.