One of My Great Teachers is Reaching the End of The Line

"There are only two ways to do something ... the Siwak way and the wrong way."

Needless to say this is a man with whom I've butted heads a few times. My dad. And now he has reached the end of the line. He's decided that his battle has gone on long enough. He's done with dialysis and pain, and falling and incontinence, and pain and itching and pain. "I've lived a full life, I'll miss Ronnie (my mom) and the kids (my sister, myself our spouses and our children). But I'm done. Give me the big pill NOW!"

And so, this weekend we moved him into palliative care.

Growing up, I used to think that my father did things on purpose - just to piss me off. And then, I had a daughter just like him and I began to understand. It is really in my adult years that I've come to truly appreciate the man who is my father.

He is a child of Polish immigrants. His father a gypsy carpenter who came because of the promise of land and his mother an indentured servant who was maltreated by her "owners" and had to be rescued.  My grandparents were Saskatchewan homesteaders and he grew up in an era where people were not afraid of hard (and I mean hard) work. An era where nothing was wasted. An era where you got on with the job and didn't concern yourself too much with how someone "felt" at any particular moment in time. Cows had to be milked. Crops had to be planted.  Bread had to be baked. Babies were born, but the work didn't stop. He is one of 12 twelve children; nine made it to adulthood. At the age of 15, he and his second eldest sister ran the family farm while the rest of the family wintered in town. He is a man who knows how to build or fix anything - and do it right the first time. Because that is how Siwak's do things. And make sure your work site is tidy at the end of the day and all tools put away. (Yes, I know, I missed out on that organizational gene). He is a self-taught man who developed a love for classical music and photography and theatre and mathematics and travel and anything tech.

He worked on oil rigs and built railway tracks before making his way to Toronto where he became a computer programmer during the early days. I remember visiting his work and watching with fascination as the data cards flew through an enormous machine that filled an entire room and was incredibly noisy. Even then my dad knew what was important in life.  He was frequently approached by headhunters with handsome job offers. He always said, "No thank you."  He wasn't prepared to sacrifice his greatest asset for prestige and income.  He earned a good living. He worked 10 minutes from home. He enjoyed his job. Why give away his time when life was already good? And so he chose to have time to indulge hobbies, to go dancing and have parties and build a life of worth. From him I learned that time is precious and not to be wasted on the unimportant things in life.

He taught me many other things. His tool shop is a thing of beauty and every tool has its place (which he knows ... heaven help anyone who puts something back in the wrong place). He is a man who paid cash for everything and knew not to spend more than he earned. His mortgage was paid off quickly.

He and my mom built a home that was and continues to be a welcoming place. This past spring my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary which, to be honest, none of us thought would come to pass given the state of his health.  I was astounded by the number of people who came to honour their commitment. (including several nuns in full habits on bicycles). The years of welcoming and reaching out to others was now being reflected back. On that day I saw yet again the value of sticking it out through the ups and downs of marriage and child raising. My father, dressed in a new suit, managed to get up and dance one more time with my mom and everyone cried.

His generosity and love for his grandchildren is well-noted. There is nothing he won't do for his family, including giving my eldest daughter money to buy a replacement car when hers was ruined in a car accident. Give, give, give to others. Why hold on to things? If you have it, share it.

He has endless stories to tell and laughter to share. His tales of growing up on the prairies, of planting and harvests and the wild risks they took. I'm still trying to imagine what it must have been like for the teacher in the schoolhouse to face a class in which every child was a sibling or cousin.

I've learned so much from him. Things that aren't taught in school but are so worth knowing.

And now he is reaching the end of the line.

For those who've noted the absence of blogposts and tweets, this is what has been keeping me busy since the summer.

I can't say I don't value what I am learning about this stage of life.

Nurses are amazing people. That's one thing I've learned.
Health care is worth protecting and fighting for; that's something I've learned.
Eat right and exercise. I've witnessed the suffering of the dialysis ward and a world of type two diabetes.
I've learned that personal support workers don't have cars and have to take public transit to provide care, which steals hours of time that could be given to care.
I've learned that there is no end to the number of prescriptions a patient might be given in hopes of  providing ... not sure  what all those bottles were for exactly.

I've witnessed countless poignant moments of love and care between spouses and family members and medical staff and complete strangers, who reach out to others. I've learned that in the end, all that we leave behind is how we've touched other's lives. That's it.