Bright and Shining Above Me

I lived on the top of a hill in the centre of a farm with fields all around me for over twenty years.  When the fall came, the constellation Orion the hunter would appear in the southeast sky accompanied by his dog star, Sirius.  My father had taught me about this constellation when I was a child and how to identify Orion by the belt of three stars at his waist.  So, when Orion appeared in the night sky as fall began, it was like seeing an old friend once again.  My eyes thrilled at recognizing this pattern of stars that humans for eons had turned into a story, as it came into view again.  I knew that Orion would be my companion through the dark of winter until he disappeared once again in the spring.  When I went out in the cold winter dark to feed the animals or to assist the sheep in lambing, to gather eggs from our hens, to take carrots to the beautiful horses or to go for walks in the field with my dogs, there was my faithful friend accompanying me, bright and shining and seemingly eternal.

The other constant in my life has been my father.  He is not a warm fuzzy man but he is tremendously ethical and has always tried to do the right thing.  He supported my children through post secondary education when I became a single parent.  He attended every graduation of every grandchild from elementary school, high school, college and university.  And he took pictures at every event.  He taught me about respecting and loving the natural world and being respectful of other cultures.  Music was his first and last love and it transported him.  He sang in a famous choir and in church choirs with his deep bass voice.  He made sure I had music lessons and taught me about classical music.  He gave me both his classical guitars and his electronic piano.  He attended every musical event that my children took part in. He loved to travel and did a lot of it including emigrating to Canada as a young man.

And now he is almost ninety-two and has landed in hospital due to being prescribed too many pharmaceuticals.  They have adjusted his medication but the change of living conditions has pushed him further into the dementia that he has been fighting against.  And now his retirement residence that he has lived in for seven years, won’t allow him to come back home.  So, he is homeless in hospital while we work to find him somewhere else to live in the midst of a care system that can’t keep up with the demand.

He is slipping away mentally and perhaps physically and this is so hard to watch.  I can’t micro manage his care as I have to be at work much of the time when he is lucid.  When I get to the hospital he is often sleeping or restlessly moving his hands and arms but reluctant to open his eyes and unable to speak above a whisper which my aging ears can’t hear.

Last night, I returned home from another disappointing “visit”.  I am in uncharted territory, not knowing what to do, if anything.  I loaded some music on an iPod to play for him, but the device didn’t work well on the weak Wifi signal in the hospital.  I have loaded another device with his old CD ROM’s to see if that will bring comfort but I haven’t tried that with him yet.  How do I help?  How do I let go?  How do I watch him emigrate to another place where I can’t go?

When I got home, my partner and I went for a later winter walk after a lovely supper that he had waiting for me.  We walked down the hill to the shore of frozen Georgian Bay.  The moon was just setting in the west.  We turned our eyes high up in the southwest and there was Orion and Sirius.  Oh, my heart leapt to see them there.  I felt so much comfort at having something familiar and constant, bright and shining above me.  Something bigger and older than all of us.  My partner talked about how we are at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy which is spinning within the universe.  My mind expanded out and out and out just as they say the Universe is expanding.  And I knew that I have to let my father go on his new journey.  The departure will take whatever time it will take.

I found a picture recently of six people standing on a ship dock beside the giant hull of an ocean liner from the 1950’s. The thick rope that tied the ship to the dock stretches over their heads.  The six people are my grandmothers, one grandfather, an uncle and two aunts who came to say goodbye to my father when he boarded that very ship to come to Canada.  My mother is not in the picture.  Perhaps she was at my father’s side even though she came six months later.  Those being left behind grimly pose for the camera.  It is not a happy day for them.  It is the beginning of a new adventure for him.  I kept that picture on my table for weeks although I wasn’t sure why.  It was all so long ago, before I was born. But now I get it.  That rope would have been released and the ship would have sailed away.  Those on the dock including my mother would have waited for it to leave, waving madly, watching until it disappeared into the horizon.  And then they would have gone home and gone about their lives, written letters, adjusted to the absence.  Some of them eventually came for a visit to Canada, but my father never returned to live in England.  He had a good life in his new country and lived it how he wanted.

Now my brother and I are standing on the dock waiting for his new ship to sail.  He is not excited about his new adventure and we feel I imagine just as his family did on the dock.  But leave, he will, as he should, as we all do.  When the rope is lifted and the ship is free, we will watch as it becomes smaller and smaller against the horizon, until it is gone.  Perhaps we won’t wave but we will be grateful at having him in our lives for as long as we did.  I suppose he felt like Orion to me, always there, constant.  But even stars die eventually.

I will make the transition to understanding who he was in my life, and which of his characteristics I carry along the family line.  I will go on with my life in a new way. I will still be comforted by Orion, and the moon and the sun and the North Star and I will find my own way with those who love me.  “I think it’s going to be okay,” my brother told me.  I heard him but wasn’t too sure.  When I saw Orion last night, bright and shining, I knew he was right.