Waving Goodbye

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 200^th 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…