from Mark, Leif & Susan's younger son

It could be difficult, getting along with Dad. He gave us as much as anyone could hope for, a beautiful yard to run around in and explore and plant things, a love of nature, a respect for the inquisitive, and more and more. But it could be difficult to get along with him.

He was critical, and sometimes that really wasn't what I needed. So between that and our other hangups, that could make for some tense feelings during my teenage years, and when I was home on break from college. The moments were never truly unbearable, sometimes good if we were doing something with rules like playing tennis, but…sometimes it wasn't so good.
 
But while I was away at college, and during the years I spent in Kansas afterwards, I'd call home once a week to catch up. And Dad and I would email back and forth about little projects we were working on, him almost always attaching photos. And our relationship got to be OK, but I still felt a little empty, because I could never really do anything for him. I never felt like I was giving anything useful back, and I wanted to.
 
Because when I would visit home, any physical strength I could lend was near-meaningless, the man was ridiculously strong. You might not have assumed it to look at him, but when you factor in his daily run of the par course when he worked at the lab, and all of the work he did around the house, his hiking and canoeing — he could carry and lift up an old heavy canoe onto the family minivan without issue — you know, that all adds up.
 
And he was smart. You'll hear plenty more about that, but you all know — he could figure out anything, and had the tools to do it. I had nothing to offer there.
 
Two years ago, Dad had a traumatic brain injury, which his balance didn't fully recover from, and his short-term memory had even less success. This was awful — for him, because his head wasn't working the way he was used to — he called himself 'broken'. And of course this also put a tremendous strain on Ma, who is the strongest woman I know.
 
But…for me, there was one little piece of good that came out of it, which was that I could finally be useful to him.
 
There were things that he wanted to accomplish, but couldn’t do on his own anymore, because if the task took more than a few minutes, he could lose track. So we would do things together.
 
These weren't monumental tasks, but they each had their challenges. Like refilling the bird feeders — which, if you've seen the backyard, that can be an endeavor, what with the jungle gym of different pulleys going on. Or — what might have been the most satisfying — just replacing some of the older boards on the back deck.
 
I could keep track of what we were doing — I could do this for him, ready to refresh his memory when he forgot exactly what part of the process we were in. And I actually did some of the work, too, but if he lost track, I could bring him back.
 
And we would accomplish things. We’d finish them. And he’d feel good about it. Aside from saying “good!” and yes, actually thanking me, I could tell that he felt satisfied about getting the task done. And then we’d go in and have lunch.
 
It was simple and it was beautiful.
 
Maybe this all says something about me not going out and being my own man, but I don’t much care. It felt good to be able to do something for him. And I wasn’t lording it over him or anything. There were still parts that he understood far better than I. I was just helping my dad. My Pa.
 
So as horrible and shattering as it must have been for him after his fall, I'm glad I was able to be there, and that he accepted my help, because in those moments of satisfaction, I know he felt capable, again. And if I could help him feel like that — then that was enough. That was OK.
 
And of course I wish we'd had more time, but I'm glad for what we got.