MISTAKE

...reading my father's letters to my mother in 1976 when he took time off work and flew over to Norway to help take care of his father, Eirik, 92, who in fact died a week or so later. Made me sad. I understood for the first time that Daddy was going through exactly what we all went through here with him and later with Peg--dealing with catheters, wet beds, messes, shit, dentures, dribbles, trying to get liquid down, pureeing food, alternating between being optimistic and pessimistic, seeing someone you love in pain but being brave--and then of course after the death, being confronted by the mountain of stuff to go through. I'd forgotten that Odd had gone over to Norway. It was only a few months after my wedding (first one), and Eirik, aka my Bestefar, had come over to give me away, along with Daddy. I was so proud, walking down the vom between them (no aisle, got married in a theatre, but of course..)

I am now trying to remember at what my point father stopped being Daddy Who Knew How To Do Stuff and Take Care of Things, and became the someone who couldn't drive down the drive without taking the wing mirror off on a pine tree or even be able go outside by himself anymore, let alone weed.

His letters to Peg are so heartfelt, so articulate. Was quite stunned. That's the papa I want to remember, not the one who couldn't get his breath and watched CNN with the sound off.

I walked outside today, looking at his garden, thinking how clever he was. Considering he hasn't touched it in over 10 years, it really doesn't look too bad. Ground cover being the order of the day, and you have to like rhododendrons and myrtle and laurel, but still. He thought ahead and--it worked.

Am now going to go read Peg's letters to Norway to see if she said anything bad about me.