As this last week came to a close and we move closer to my dad’s move, all that jiggle in my soul is, well, jiggling. Riding all kinds of emotions at once: Relief that he’ll be less isolated and in a supportive place, a poignancy that this move is predicated on my dad’s ebbing capabilities, and a kind of helpless nervous energy that has me constantly wondering what to do with my hands. He&I have also peeled back some new layers in our communication this last week. He’s become more comfortable with me being there and less apt to feel he has to talk to me if I’m sitting on the couch or at the dining room table with him. He can nod off in peace without thinking he’s being a bad host. There have also some been some surprising emotional reveals, which, considering he’s not been big on examining or excavating feelings being a product of his generation, have alerted me to new ways of listening to him. Example: (Him after I came back from a long walk) Are you mad at me? (Me, shocked because in no universe was I upset with him) No, not at all! Why do you think that? (Him) Because you had to leave the house to get away from me. (Me) Oh, daddy, no. I love walking! It keeps me sane. So that’s why I just took that long walk. (Him) Are you sure? (Me) Yes. I promise. I love you and definitely have zero reason to be angry with you. (Him) Let’s not talk about this anymore.

And so we didn’t talk about that anymore. I did think about it though and realized even more how the filter between his front-facing self and his feelings has become much more porous.

Around mid-week, he became spicy about the move, saying, “My life was pretty calm and now, since you’ve arrived, it’s all changing.” A bit of revisionist history—although he’s not wrong that in the three+ years I’ve been here, change has happened albeit he’s also been pretty well moving&grooving at his place as it had always been. In the last few months though, yes, more temblors in the firmament where he stands. I’ve also found, polished, and gotten stronger around wielding my emotional shield when I need to because more and more he’ll flash at me moments where I recognize the kind of prickly he would aim at my mom. Times he may feel I’m hovering or directing his movements, being rigid, or what-have-you. He’ll reel off a few “You never want to take a chance” when the subject of ordering in versus cooking what’s in the fridge comes up. Or “You make too much of what I say” when he complains about not being able to get out of a low chair and I jump to put another, easier one in its place. So I’m learning to figure out when to let him be. But also I’m hyperaware how those comments push on a very purple-bruisy emotional bit in my psyche. From the beginning of being his daughter, I’ve responded to the dynamic of how my parents were. Naturally I wasn’t aware of doing it, but as a girl observing, I decided to align with him. To become the cool girl. Chill like him, not emotional like her. I wouldn’t exhibit too much in the way of worry, I wouldn’t insert myself in his (or anyone’s decisions), I’d find a home in books, music, and dry humor…and sometimes dry martinis. I’d avoid becoming too deeply affected by other people and guard against letting go.

Can’t say that’s altogether been successful. Just now I’m starting to do the work of understanding how to care, to step in and not think I’m being intrusive. Somewhere along the way I’d decided making my needs and thoughts known in a relationship was unnecessary as people had free will and would either love me or not. Who was I to ask? (And again, a post for another day.) My dad loves me. He’s also being driven a bit crazy by me currently. And you know what? That’s just fine because it’s my heart driving my actions. Not encroaching but embracing. No smothering but supporting.

So as much as I’ve loved hanging out at his place with him, I’m also underfoot. I creep around trying not to wake him up as he naps. I watch him heading for the kitchen and hold tight before stepping in. He may just be pouring another cup of coffee but he may also be trying to set something on fire on the stove. Yet I know he needs to be involved in his own agency. Not infantilized. Where’s the line? Damn if I know. Also, being slightly sleep-deprived given the nocturnal prowlings of a local cat who is apparently feeling springtime in a non-spayed or neutered way (PEOPLE, please put your felines out of their misery by doing the right thing!) and the meeses who continue to rummage around in the kitchen, things feel pretty surreal right now. Strange enough that I’m ending this with a mouse/dad metaphor: Dennis brought over these traps that actually look like tiny spacecrafts where the critter goes in, gets the treat (in this case avocado cuz they love avocado), then can’t get out. His plan is/was to then drive him to the place he’s working surrounded by much wild land and let them out. The first night, one of the spacecrafts was turned over, the avo gone, along with the mouse. Fine. Wily bastard. I thought, if I could just convince them that the place they would be going offers more than the space they currently occupy, that they’d climb on board and maybe they, like my dad, might be interested in making the move.