Pops (or, as you may know him, my dad)

My dad is amazing.

I mean, he’s always been a great dad – always told me I was beautiful, and that he loved me. He always protected me (just ask any of my guy friends in high school who received the super strong I-could-crush-your-skull-with-one-hand handshake) and cared for me like a dad should. But with all of this with my mom, I’m seeing more and more just how great he is.

Like how tender he is with her. How he washes and blow-dries her hair in a certain way every morning so it covers the bald patches. How he puts her in bed every night, and organizes her pillows for her. How he sat in the hospital for hours at a time, just holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings in her ear (granted, I always make a gaggy face when this happens, because it’s my sworn duty as a daughter, but I secretly love to see how much he loves her).

Or how he goes to every radiation appointment with her (she kinda makes him, but even if she didn’t make him, he wouldn’t miss it), how he does her therapy exercises with her every day, how he jumps up to take her to the bathroom, or get her a cup of water, or do anything she asks, no matter what he’s doing when she asks. He even used to basically carry her from chair to wheelchair, until the therapist made him stop, because my mom wouldn’t get stronger if he kept it up.

Or how he bends down and helps her get on her shoes (which certainly isn’t good for his back), or how he stands up and walks much more than he used to (which really increases the pain in his leg and foot), or how stays up late so he can work on his sermon for Sundays (which means he gets even less sleep). Why all the snarky parenthetical statements? My dad has had two herniated discs in his back, numerous surgeries and as a result lost feeling and movement in one leg, and now has chronic pain, which is mostly caused by Stage 3 Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy, also known as Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. He can’t walk very much, and instead uses a scooter. And he hasn’t slept through the night in years.

Taking care of my mom is really physically hard for him. A few days ago we were just sitting and watching TV after a pretty standard day, and his pain on the pain scale was an 8 or a 9. His pain scale, he says, goes up to 12 instead of 10 (please tell me you thought of Spinal Tap when you read that). Which basically means he’s learned to live with an 8 or 9, since his ordinary, lowest pain level is probably a 4.

So he’s taking disability. He’s giving up a job he absolutely loves not because he really wants to, but because he physically can’t take care of my mom and pastor the church at the same time. It’s not that he’s retiring, or taking a leave to take care of my mom. It’s that he physically can’t do both. And though he loves the church, and has so much he still wants to do, my mom comes first. And he can’t take care of her if he is incapacitated with physical pain.

He cares so much for her. He always says he’d do anything for her. They’ve been married for over 30 years, and they really, truly love each other.

He and my mom made a pact not to make each other cry. I mean, with everything going on, they could probably be in tears all day, every day. Instead they make each other laugh.

And so they spend the days together, watching shows, laughing, and just being together. They won’t grow old together, but they still have more time. And my dad will use as much time as they have left to keep loving my mom.