Role reversal - Part 2

When I was eight years old, I would walk from the gate of our apartment complex and onto the road where the school bus would pick me up. I had to walk a small stretch of road outside the gates in order to reach the assembly point where other kids would be waiting. One morning, a cow was busy chewing on some grass as I walked by. I don't remember what really happened next,but I found myself running for dear life, followed by the cow that had looked deceptively mild, minding its own business a few minutes back. Perhaps spooked by the honk of a passing vehicle, it had taken off in a startled leap behind me. After an intense chase, I fell into a ditch, expecting the cow to chomp down on my braids. But the cow kept running ahead. I got up slowly, bruised in body but scared to walk to the bus stop thereafter. My brothers could not stop laughing when they heard of my plight. But my parents took a decision that day. My father would accompany me to the bus stop each morning and wait until I boarded the bus safely. He continued to do that everyday till I was 13 years old.

Today my father walks with the help of a walker as he recovers from hip surgery. He has already suffered a heart attack and a kidney problem in the last year. The highpoint for his birthday this year, which ushered in his eightieth year, was being discharged from the hospital. He is physically weak, a mere shell of what he used to be. He is easily tired, demotivated and often cranky. Neither cricket not politics interests him. Anna Hazare's activism revived his spirits for a few weeks earlier this year. But he finds it difficult to read for long, or watch TV. He has stopped making plans for the future. He still wants to give advice but mostly feels that it is a lost cause.

I don't know how to deal with this new version of my father. I am the one who has to help him walk to the table to eat. I choose the clothes for him to wear. I open the curtains, get him his glasses, insist that he eat everything on his plate. I discuss his medication and health status. I teach him Sudoku. I urge him to read an article a day from Reader's Digest. I give him advice. I tell him stories. I share details of my day. He asks for my opinion about dealing with his finances. He seeks inputs into how to pass the days which seem long.

It is hard to take this role, parenting a parent. To be the caregiver after having been at the receiving end for so long. I am sure it is difficult for him too. Only a year ago, he stood by my side as the truck unloaded my possessions into my new apartment. It was exactly a month after his angioplasty. He would not hear about taking it easy. He was my support as I made a major transition. Now he is moving into a new phase, a more restricted life. Perhaps he may not go out for a walk as freely or head to the medical store to buy his medicines as confidently. His social circle will probably dwindle to those few people who can come over and visit him at home. For a person who thrives in the company of people, his sphere of interaction and influence is decreasing.

Just as we see our children growing, it is part of life to also watch our parents shrinking. Being aware of the inevitable cycle of life where I fit in makes me aware of the present. I need to be in the moment to witness these transitions. As I move from one role to another, I need to stay rooted to what is happening now, not visualize my future or go back into the simpler past. Just as my father did with me, I need to accompany the moment.