Sometimes it's a drag being far away...

I spoke to my brother yesterday and he told me that our father is not doing so well. He's now over 86 and has dementia and is partially blind, but despite all of this 'umglick' he has always been strong in his body and character. I realised yesterday that I have always counted on that strength, even as it has been waning.

My dad never thought he would live to the age he is now. As a Holocaust survivor I think he believed that this experience would certainly shorten his life. I honestly believe my dad does not recognise his inner spirit and his genuine desire, and it is a burning desire, to live. This core of solidity is what kept him alive during times when so many of those around him perished.  My father was only 17 when he was removed from his home in Kowal in Poland to a forced labour camp in Posen.  From there he was sent to Auschwitz and from there to work as a slave labourer in the mines in Germany for over three years.  As the Allied forces starting bombing Germany he was sent to Buchenwald concentration camp and finally was sent on the notorious death march to Schongau. After five years (!) in April 1945, my father was finally liberated and sent to a Displaced Persons Camp. He was 22 years old. He had lost his home, both his grandparents, parents and eight brothers and sisters.

This recited history is inconceivable to me. I look at my 24 year old son and want to remind him to wear a scarf when it's cold outside! To have endured all of the things my father had endured at such a young age and emerged somehow intact, both physically and mentally is a testament to who he is and who he continues to be.

My father seemed to live his life with a simple mantra - don't look back, carry on and keep moving - keep living.

By 1947 he was in America, married and within two years I was born and three years later, my brother was born. Sometimes I try to imagine what I was doing four years ago and it doesn't seem very long ago and yet four years after my father was a prisoner, he had a wife and child, a new country, a new language, no money at all and no history, extended family or even, a living past. I am in awe of the courage my dad has shown throughout his life.

I hate being far away from him now. Living in England has many advantages but one of them has never been that I live so far from my family.  I would like to be with my father now. Whenever I hold his hands now I remember that when I was little I used to notice that he had long thin fingers - artist's hands, somehow more elegant than he was.  When I hold his hands now, I feel just as protected and cared for as I ever did only now I also feel protective of him.  My father said that to him, family is everything and I also feel that way.  I've made sure that I have a big family -  made up not just of my blood relatives, but of many beloved people in my life.  I try to be generous with my feelings, just as my father is.  He's taught me a lot and is still teaching me things.  Last time I saw him in late August, he was still smiling and still flirting with the aides in the residential home where he now lives..

My dad is funny and sweet and loved by all of his family.  Even now, with his faculties diminished, he is still funny and just as sweet.  His nature hasn't really changed, just dimmed.

My brother sees him often and has inherited much of the calm, gregarious thoughtfulness and humour from my father. I guess we still can take away some pure wisdom from my dad, even while we are concerned for him - don't look back, carry on and keep moving - keep living.
 
I love you, Pop.