Watching My Diabetic Father Grow Old

My dad is diabetic. He was diagnosed about a decade or so ago with type two but over the last year it has developed into type one. At close to seventy years old, he's doing incredibly well, really. He watches his diet and his blood sugar levels and takes his insulin. He retired a few years ago but still stays active and tries to get in at least one walk around the neighborhood most days.

His mind is still sharp, near as we can tell. Diabetes can cause memory problems, but my dad has always been something of an absent-minded professor type anyway, so it's hard to tell if the gaps are all that much worse than what they've always been. He has a degree in biochemistry and spent over half of his adult life as a research biochemist. He had an epiphany along the way and eventually switched to becoming a Methodist minister. Both careers require a lot of intelligence and study. He continues to keep up his contact and learning within his church as well as enjoying other written works. So far, he has shown no signs of true dementia or other such severe mental degradation as can happen with this condition.

His legs don't work as well as they used to, though, and he wobbles when he walks. He has had to trade up from a push mower to a riding one(Not that this is so bad. I know he enjoys his new toy.) He uses a cane more and more. He has trouble getting up from a chair or other seated position. It's hard to watch.

This is my Daddy. The tall, strong guy who, like my mother, is also one of my best friends. This is a man who always looked ten years or more younger than his actual age. (A trait that I have inherited, thank you Daddy!) Now, he looks much closer to his nearly seven decades. He is still feisty, but my daddy looks 'old' to my eyes now.

This can be hard to take for most children of elderly parents. Watching the wearing down of someone who was always so strong before. When I was much younger, I worked in elderly care. I spent almost six years feeding, bathing, dressing and otherwise helping people much older and more frail than myself get through their days. When I realized that my job was pretty much helping people get through their last years until they died, I decided it was time to quit. I had had to say goodbye forever to several patients and it was hard every time.

I look at my dad(and my mom, too) and I can see those patients I used to care for. It chokes me up to think about where they are eventually headed, now that I can see that future getting closer. Thankfully, my parents are still very self-sufficient. The older of my two young brothers is living with them right now and is an active handyman for them. Which also means that if something were to happen to either one of them, my brother is right there to help. My sister and I live only twenty minutes away, so are also nearby.

Mom will probably follow in her matrilineal footsteps and survive into her nineties, just as her mother and grandmother have done. Dad, well, he seems to have a good half dozen or so years left at least, but I think we can all feel the tick of the clock a bit now. Or at least I do. Because I have watched it tick before. For people I was not related to. And for grandparents and a few other relatives now gone.

His illness is taking its toll, bit by bit. He sticks to his diet pretty well, but every now and then one must be allowed to indulge at least a little. He cheats with a piece of candy or small piece of cake once in awhile and then takes an extra dose of insulin to compensate. And each time, another piece of his remaining time on earth is carved away. He doesn't let this consequence concern him too much. I know it bothers mom sometimes, but I know why he allows himself these little 'deaths'.

For life is to be savored and enjoyed. This, among a number of other lessons, is something I have learned from both my parents. My father's lifespan may have become shorter than if he had never developed this condition, but that does not mean that this should be viewed as a death sentence. There is no pity party here. Having diabetes is not the end of everything good. Life goes on and there is still plenty to enjoy about it. Despite the unsteady legs, my dad is going to finish his race laughing and loving.