changing weather

Leaving tomorrow morning for 5 days in Florida to visit with my father. 

I always find it challenging to pack when the weather where I am is so different from the weather where I'm going. 

This was always a challenge when I was living in California - the climate in Berkeley was in the mid 70's pretty much 3/4 of the year.  Coming back to Jersey for a visit in the summer, I'd pack jeans and a light jacket ... having forgotten what oppressive heat and humidity felt like.  In the winter, I'd pack jeans and a light jacket ... having (blissfully) forgotten what bitter cold and icy winds felt like. 

And now, here in brrrr cold NJ, I am looking in my suitcase disbelieving that I will REALLY be wearing those flip flops and sundress tomorrow.  Dad says it has been "boring" there - "82 ... 82 and sunny the last week" in Bonita Springs.  (that kind of boring, i'll take.)

My folks bought their condo on the west coast of Florida when my father retired.  They made the purchase during construction - something my folks had never done (and something my mother always longed to do) - this was going to be the sweet place where they would spend the winters of their retirement lounging by the pool, wandering the town, doing whatever they wanted in a life where (as my father liked to say of retirement) "every day is Saturday."  They had two (or was it three) years to do that ... and now, well ... everything has changed. 

Dad still loves the place, but now he's vacillating on whether he wants to keep it as we round the corner on two years since mom died.  He still loves it, but it is 'loaded' now.  It was their retirement vacation spot, and now he goes solo - inviting friends down to visit (and me when I can get away) and trying not to see her in all the places they used to go, or in the furniture and decorations around the house that she gleefully purchased brand new.  He swims, plays tennis now and then and does his work (retirement has only meant the chance to explore his entrepreneurial side -- dad has one business up, and another in the works ... as well as continuing to write and comment about education whenever the quixotic urge strikes).  And I know that under an umbrella of grief, sadness and disbelief that he carries around with him all the time, he's doing pretty OK.

When I am with him these days I spend a lot of time listening.  He recently told me that I am becoming his most reliable "Ann Landers" (ah, all those years of coaching have come in handy), and I'm glad I can be a support for him; I actually relish my role as 'holder of emotional space' ... I've always loved being with people in the highs and lows of their lives and I'm grateful that I can provide that sort of support for my dad when it's something he wants/needs and values so much.  And sometimes it takes a lot out of me.

And, then ... like all parents and their kids, my father is a parent - can not stop being a parent - and sometimes his interest in my relationship, health, career outlook and plans (and his opinions/thoughts on what i should/could/might want to do instead of what i am doing) just about exhausts me.  I'm having my own challenges sorting this stuff out for myself and I don't feel like distilling it all into easy to digest narratives for my father  (actually, i wish i could - maybe that would help ... or maybe it would mean i've made more sense of it all ... but i can't seem to). 

Yes, I'm 45 years old ... I think I must sound like a whingy teenager. 

And so I sit here in my heated condo while the wind whips outside, knowing that tomorrow I'll be where it's sunny and warm, and I'll be Dad's coach/Ann Landers/daughter ... and I'm not sure how to pack for that either. 

Comments

[Will]

How you describe you father walking around with his loss in a place he and your mother shared, that is exactly how I picture and fear it for myself. You know how thoughts of the inevitable haunt me. He lasted longer than I would have. Maybe I’ll surprise myself, but in a lot of ways I picture myself walking through the wardrobe for good, to another country perhaps?

Even for my parents I can’t picture myself living in their house, but I can’t abide the thought of someone else living there either. So hard.

One thing I can say is that I know my daughter and I will share a similar closeness in getting each other through that you describe. I’m taking notes though on what you need less of in that relationship to try to keep the load light.

Thanks for sharing this.

[Marilyn]

I wish whenever I prepare to visit my Dad I could FORGET to pack the emotional baggage... ;) Hope you have a great visit.