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On a bright, cloudless day in September 1983 I stood on the deck of the Queen Elizabeth 2, waving goodbye to no one in particular. I was 26-years-old and all around people threw streamers and shouted farewell to loved ones on the Manhattan pier below. Since this was a business trip, I assumed nobody would be there to see me off. I was wrong.

I looked down and there was my father in his business suit, scanning the ship’s passengers. “Cliff!!” I called, using his first name. I’m not sure why I didn’t yell out, “Dad!” Maybe I knew too many men would respond to that name. Maybe I wanted to appear grown-up and sophisticated. Maybe it was the first thing that came to mind. Whatever the case, my Dad heard and found me, waving from the ship’s rail.

We looked at each other and grinned. I gave an exaggerated shrug. “Do you believe this?”

I was still pinching myself over being chosen to help my company celebrate its 200th anniversary with a trip to England aboard this famous liner. My father gave an exaggerated shrug back, shaking his head. “No, I can’t believe it,” he seemed to say.

A huge blast sounded from the horn and we started pulling away. By degrees and inches, the distance between my father and I grew.

Above, sea gulls called to each other. The air smelled briny and oily and sweet. Tug boats and sail boats and speedboats swirled around New York harbor. I watched my father grow smaller on the dock, touched that he took time out of his work day in Long Island to see me off.

I found out later, he stayed till the ship disappeared from view.

We sailed past the gleaming towers of Manhattan, under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and finally into the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. In my cabin that afternoon I found a bouquet of flowers from my parents wishing me “Bon Voyage.”

Five days later, I arrived in Southampton, England, safe and sound.

Thirty-one years have passed since that September afternoon. The Queen Elizabeth 2 was retired in 2008. I now have two sons, almost the same age I was back then.

These days my father spends most of his time confined to a hospital bed. Weak and frail, he’s unable to move. All his food must be pureed into unappetizing lumps to prevent choking, hand-fed by my Mom or an aide. My father’s dependent on others for everything.

Sometimes I think of that day when he and I waved goodbye to each other.

Only this time that Bon Voyage is reversed. I’m on the dock and my father’s on the ship. But instead of the QE2 slowly pulling him away, it’s Parkinson’s Disease, taking him inch by inch, bit by bit, from the family and life he loves.

I picture him standing on the deck of the ship, giving a sad shrug.“Do you believe this?” he asks.

I shrug back, trying not to cry. “No, Dad, I don’t.” Like that day the QE2 finally disappeared from my father’s sight, my father will someday disappear from mine.

I know this is part of getting older. And up till three years ago, my father led a good, happy, healthy life. So many people have gone through these hard times. Now it’s our turn.

And yet it doesn’t make things easier. Every time I see my father I tell him I love him.

And many times I’ve thought of him showing up on that beautiful September afternoon… simply to wave goodbye.

 

(Postscript: My father passed away from Parkinson’s Disease in July, 2015).

 

Do you have a loved one suffering from an illness?  Comments are always welcome and if you’d like to receive postings by email, just press here.

Thank you so much for reading and sharing…

Comments(34)

  1. What a perfect story. You brought tears to my eyes.

  2. Thanks for reading, Lois.

  3. No words……😢

  4. Thank you, Ann.

  5. Oh, so poignantly put. The difference is, he'll still be all around you. Our limited human senses just won't be able to discern that he is there. But I bet he will find ways to let you know. My parents sure do. Wishing you peace and love.

  6. Thank you so much. I also believe many things surround us our limited human senses can't pick up. I find that comforting.

    • Sandy

    • 8 years ago

    Beautiful.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 8 years ago

      Thanks so much, Sandy.

  7. Your story resonated with me on multiple levels as I lost my father to cancer quite a while ago.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 8 years ago

      Its such a tough thing to go through, isn’t it?

    • Liv

    • 8 years ago

    I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m glad you have such a good memory of him.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 8 years ago

      Thank you so much, Liv. I am too.

  8. Just beautiful…and what a wonderful memory to have…

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Renee, Thank you. I’ll never forget the sight of my dad on that dock.

  9. Beautiful story. My father-in-law is going through the same thing now with Parkinsons. It is important to hang on to our best memories of him so we can get through the tough times.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Shari, Its such a hard thing to watch. I’m so sorry about your father-in-law. All you can do is be there for him.

  10. A sad and lovely story about experiences we all may have sooner or later. I love the way you weave your embarkment on the QE into your story about your Dad… Blessings.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Laura, Thanks so much.

  11. Laurie, you always bring me to tears! Lost my mother to Parkinson’s 16 years ago. I was so happy she could go. Consciously, she had left years before. Only her body refused to give up. I know she is in a happier place. Someday, She’ll be waving to me as my ship approaches her shore. I look forward to that day!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Oh Diane, I never thought of the reverse! Yes, maybe we’ll be on those ships as they pull closer to our parents waiting on the shore… wherever they may be. Goosebumps.

  12. What a lovely loving post. I am sorry for your loss. Yes watching our parents sail away into a shell of their former selves is difficult. I try to only remember my Mother as she was, vital, funny, bright, demandingly present and my biggest cheerleader!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Haralee, Your mom sounds so nice. Yes, time catches up to all of us, sadly.

  13. This made me cry. My dad passed in 2015 as well and I wish I had told him I loved him more. But I know he knew. I also know he is with me a lot of the time. I find it oddly comforting.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Lauen, Yes, I feel my Dad’s presence too. So sorry for your loss.

  14. What a beautiful memory, so poignant. I realize I’m preparing myself for this inevitability as well and already trying to seal my heart from the pain. Thank you for sharing such moving piece.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Thanks so much for reading, Dyanne.

  15. Laurie, I love this! It is especially poignant to me today, with death seeming to press in all around us.

    Henry van Dyke said it best:
    Gone From My Sight
    I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
    spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
    for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
    I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
    of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
    Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
    Gone where?
    Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
    hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
    And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
    Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
    And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
    there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
    ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
    And that is dying…

    I love stories of your Dad.
    I SO look forward to meeting him! Some day…

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Diane, Such a beautiful poem and so true. I agree that our loved ones are only gone from our sight, but they’re still there, probably closer than we think. Got chills. I’m sorry when you say death is pressing in around you. My prayers…

  16. This is a beautiful, moving post, Laurie.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 2 years ago

      Thank you, Carol!

    • Diane

    • 2 years ago

    I love this, Laurie! So Beautiful!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 2 years ago

      Thank you, my dear.

  17. I know this pain, this long goodbye, as we watch Alzheimer’s consume my mom. Thanks for sharing your story.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 2 years ago

      Pennie, I can’t imagine what that is like. All my best.

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