Easing His Mind, And Delivering Anxiety

I had not visited my parents in a few weeks so yesterday I figured it was about time I did. I telephoned my mom and told her I was going to stop by, and bring my laundry with me. She suggested I come by around 6 and have dinner. It has been a while since I have had a non-microwave home-cooked dinner. So yesterday right after work I stopped by my apartment, changed my clothes, grabbed my hamper of dirty laundry, and headed to my parents’.

My mother is a pretty good cook, not great, but pretty good. I ate my mother’s cooking all through childhood and survived. We had meatloaf yesterday evening, a stable in my mother’s bill of fare. After dinner I sat back and watched TV with my father, and eventually, with my mother too. We had just gotten into a movie on Turner Classic Movies, when my father hit the mute button, making the room go silent. He then turned to Mom and me, told us that something had been on his mind, and it was time for him to talk about it. I did not know what this was going to be about, but I was immediately concerned.

My father began by calmly saying that he was 62 years old and that he probably would not live forever. I think his words were, “tomorrow is promised to no one”. He said that if he were to die, have a stroke, or suddenly suffer from some form of dementia, that he wanted my mother and me to know that he had had a wonderful, happy life and he loved both of us very much. He added that if he were to ever have mental problems that made him angry or hostile, that we should ignore that behavior and remember him as he is today.

That was the gist of it. My mother and I were initially shocked by this announcement, a shock that in seconds turned to extreme worry. Both my mother and I simply assumed that my father must have some terrible illness that he was not revealing. My mother became very distressed and started yelling at my father to tell her what was going on. Meanwhile I was all but in tears, partly from my dad's words, and partly from my mom's reaction to them.

Dad then barked at us to stop worrying, and that he was perfectly okay. When my mom and I had calmed down a bit, my father again assured us -this time in a relaxed tone- that he was all right and had high hopes to live to be 100. He then stated once more that he just wanted us to know how he felt about my mom and I, and his life, should fate deny him another chance.

When all was said and done, the whole ordeal actually angered my mother a bit. When I left their house late yesterday evening to return to my apartment, my mom was still a little agitated. She does not like to be traumatized. I, on the other hand, understood what my father had tried to do; things had been on his mind that he felt he needed to say. I do wish there were a way to go about expressing those things in some manner that was a little less unsettling. I'm sure my mom would second that sentiment.