The Aging Roar

The original focus of this blog is Mom. However, I can’t write about Mom without including stories about Dad. After nearly 55 years of marriage, it is difficult to talk solely about Mom, for their lives have been intertwined too long to not include snippets about the love of her life.

I was thinking about an incident with Dad and an image of a lion came to mind. The analogy is so strong that I can not shake it. The male lion is the king of the jungle. The lion is a majestic animal with its powerful body and full mane framing his face. He is surrounded by his pride of lionesses and their cubs. He fights off any male intruders that threaten his position in the pride. While the adult male cubs leave the pride, the females usually remain with the lion. Hmmm…reminds me of saying, “A daughter is a daughter all of her life; a son is a son, till he takes a wife”. Eventually the lion ages, his mane thins out, he may have lost some teeth, and his muscles are no longer capable of chasing off intruders. Another younger, stronger male fights for the pride and dethrones the older male.

For my father’s generation the man is the head of the household. He reigns over his “jungle”. I remember Dad roaring when frustrated with a home project that wasn’t going according to plan. Oh, how his temper would flare, the French curses bellowing and whatever tool was in his hand would be thrown into a corner. Mind you, he never took his temper out on any of us. He never threw anything at us. But we knew to back off when he roared. As for his “pride”, Dad is a family man, first and foremost. Mom is his lioness. Living here, with my girls, completes the analogy. Scary, huh?

I have never doubted that Dad would defend his family with every ounce of strength he could muster, if provoked. Outside violence never touched our family, but I saw him defend us in terms of keeping us safe. There was the time when we moved to the Cumberland Mountains of western Maryland. I was five and curious. Our backyard dropped off to a cliff, 50 feet above the road below. The first thing he said was for us to not go near the edge of the cliff. He was planning on installing a fence as soon as possible. I had other plans. I just had to see what the edge looked like. I quietly walked up to the edge. Just as I was about to peer over the side of the cliff I felt a jerking of the back of my shirt. Dad yanked at me so hard, worried that I would fall off the cliff. Yep, his worry came out in the form of a roar that continues to echo in my memory! To this day, I can’t stand at the edge of anything over 10 feet tall unless there is a sturdy fence there to protect me from falling.

Earlier this week the old lion roared, but it wasn’t as loud or as effective. Or maybe I am older and have learned to roar back. Dad’s car is in the shop for a couple of weeks, for repairs. The annual two week beach trip is coming up and he is planning to drive the rental car to the Jersey Shore, which is a two hour drive, at best. To top it off, he is the only driver registered for the rental. I remind him that he hasn’t driven to the Shore for a number of years. “Yes I Have!!!”. Stepping up to match him roar-for-roar, I reply “No You Haven’t!” Lowering my tone I continue, “I’m just saying… you might want to put someone else on the rental.” The roar, weaker, but still detectable, “I will be fine to drive!”. I walk to my desk and continue working. Ten minutes later, in a tone of quiet defeat he states, “Well, maybe we can put Lynn on the rental, too…pause….And she can drive the car”.

I have so many mixed emotions. I am relieved that he is not attempting to drive to the Shore. At the same time my heart hurts for him. The lion is aging and I don’t want him to. And I am not in the mood to be told that this is the nature of things. The “great circle of life” is for others. It is not for my Dad. Intellectually, I know that we are only here for a brief moment. But at this moment, this slice of time, a million miles separate my heart from my brain. Placing a hand over my chest, my heart hurts for him and for me.

Dad’s mane is balding, his teeth are chewed down and stained, his breathing is labored after walking a short distance, his eyesight is gone in one eye and he takes a pharmacy of pills on a daily basis. These are tangible signs of the aging lion. I see it with my eyes, even if the little girl in me wants to deny it.

There are snatches of time, where reality hits harder than normal. It is like the pace of life has ratcheted up a notch and his footing is not as steady, not as strong as it had once been. Those days of clarity make me wish there was many more years with the of my childhood. The lion who would wrestle with us as children, gave piggy back rides to his grandchildren and would even stand on his head to make them roll on the floor with laughter.

Dad turns 80 this Friday. It is a celebration of the lion that still roars, laughs and loves me.

Peace,

JaneEllen