I have gotten used to my dad again. It took me three days to adapt and come to terms with his present condition and how he feels about it. His determination to walk and to view himself as able and important are quite impressive. I mean, he puts himself in the middle of the busy walkstreet, full of couples, running kids and barking dogs, and wonders why all these people are rude enough to stand in his way, and he waves them away with his cane. He takes hours to do anything, be it climb a step, zip up his coat, or take out his change purse. It got on my nerves in the beginning, but I have adapted to his rythm now, and understand that there is no reason he shouldn't take his time, and see the world in his own light. That's the secret of longevity perhaps. He loves to get out and about, and look into all the shops - the baker, the butcher, the pharmacy... he eats all his food slowly and methodically but with real relish, and his sense of humour is undented by his condition. Hats off, papa. On top of it, being with him has made me confront my own intolerance. It reminds me of walking down the street in Lund around Christmas with little Julia who had just learned to walk. She needed to stop in front of every shop window and examine the Christmas decorations which I hardly noticed or took for granted, and comment on them with her little pointy finger. Titta jultomten!
Different speeds at different times of life so to speak.I need to learn to slow down and see life through other's eyes as well as through my own.
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