The Idea of a Century

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I'm sitting in El Puerto, a Mexican restaurant in Fox Lake, Illinois - about a 20 minute drive north of my sister's home. It is a fairly typical upper mid-western lakeside restaurant.  Swimwear is acceptable, the lakeside wooden tables are equally impervious to wet swimsuits and sloshed beer. Jet skis whine their way around what might otherwise be a tranquil setting.  No doubt the local critters scavenge the area at night in search of dropped nachos, or a discarded corner of burrito.  More important to me is the fact that it is located just a couple of miles from Paradise Park, the retirement home/care center where my Dad has lived for the eight or nine years. Also of note is the fact that they make their own margaritas - none of that mix stuff in a jug.

That is of particular importance today as I have just returned from visiting my father, who will celebrate his 100th birthday on Saturday.  Actually, that's not completely accurate.  His children, grandchildren, his great-grandchild and their significant others will celebrate his birthday.  He will be in attendance, but I have no idea how he will experience it.  You see, just now, he had absolutely no idea who I was.  True, after the chemo my hair has come back in quite curly. But even after, "It's Rob, your son, from North Carolina.  My daughters, Andrea and Emily will be here in a couple of days," there was no hint of recognition.  He was, as always, quite the gentleman.  "Thank you for coming," he said.  He wasn't angry or upset. If anything he just seemed slightly uncomfortable with this person who seemed to know him, but whom he could not place.  I suppose I could have pushed the issue, "Come on Dad, I'm your son, Rob! For cryin' out loud, you know me."  But, obviously, the odds of breaking through seemed slight.  Pursuing the issue would, at best have been unkind; at worst, cruel.  I gave him a hug and left.

It was a deeply unsettling experience.  Ordinarily, when we interact with people who are approaching, for whatever the reason, the end of their life, our own sense of mortality intrudes.  We recoil from the thought that somehow we will be snatched prematurely from life.  A visit such as this provokes a fundamentally different fear; the fear that we will linger on in life, long after the joy of living has departed.
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