“This marks a fresh start. I truly want this,” I say to my father, who is visibly anxious. “Say it out loud,” I urge him.
“This marks a fresh start. I truly want this,” he echoes back.
It’s the night before his significant relocation from New Jersey to Long Island, allowing him to be nearer to us. Despite being the one who advocated for this move, he radiates tension like static electricity.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings repeatedly, breaking our moment. It’s my partner and our two youngest sons returning from the park. My youngest son peeks his jubilant face through the window, his grin as wide and wild as the curly hair spilling out from beneath his helmet. He’s been practicing on his new roller skates. I open the door and gesture for silence. He nods, still beaming, then clumsily shuffles over to me for a hug, joyfully lifting my spirits even as he tries not to tumble down.
Weeks earlier, I had asked my father to choose just one box of books or tapes that he couldn’t bear to part with—a daunting task for someone who collects everything.
“Can I have three boxes?” he pleads.
“Let’s start with one,” I reply.
“Five boxes, can I have five?”
“Probably, but let’s see you pack one first.”
However, instead of filling a single box, he spent the intervening weeks negotiating for more boxes and sorting through items to donate. Now, on the eve of the move, not a single box is packed. That doesn’t bother me; his current home is a chaotic mess anyway. The more he takes, the quicker this new place will become cluttered again.
“Dad, those things aren’t necessary anymore. Let’s begin anew,” I suggest.
“But collecting these items is my only achievement. It may seem trivial, but it means something to me.” He sounds regretful, yet rational.
“You’ll discover new treasures that hold significance,” I reassure him, glancing out the window where my middle son and partner are tossing a ball across our overgrown lawn as dusk settles in. My son leaps back, catches it, and the last of the fading light.
“I need to find a purpose. I feel so lost,” he laments. “I can’t pack these boxes. It’s just too hard. Too painful.”
“I understand,” I respond, surprising myself with my calm demeanor. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of stress for me, with worries about social services, medical professionals, and senior advocates. We were diving into the unknown without a safety net.
“Don’t fret. I’ve bought you all new essentials. You’ll have everything you need,” I say, walking past the room where my eldest son practices his haftarah for his upcoming bar mitzvah. His melodious voice swells with hope and beauty, nearly bringing me to tears.
“This is a new life,” my father repeats the mantra. “I want it.”
Looking at the love that surrounds me, I think that if this doesn’t uplift him, I’m not sure what will.
“Great,” I respond. “Because tomorrow, it all begins…”
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In summary, the journey of relocating a loved one can be fraught with emotion and challenges. Yet, with patience and support, a new beginning can lead to growth and renewed purpose.