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Shimmer
I had this restful scene -- the result of a painting exercise from an artist's instruction book a decade ago -- framed and propped up on a bookshelf in Pa's bedroom some years ago.
I wanted him to enjoy gazing past the shadows to follow the river's shimmery meander. He was drawn to water -- had been a strong swimmer and certified a lifesaver by the Royal Lifesaving Society UK when he was a youth.
Although wheelchair-bound, he hankered to go swimming and I wish I had
He taught me to swim when I was little and I have the happiest memories of sunny Sundays spent with him in the pool. What could be more fitting than to take him swimming in his end days, the way he had taken me swimming in my beginning days?
Pa was a positive thinker and a doer, a self-made man. He changed the things he could, triumphing over his childhood adversities and forging his course through life's vicissitudes. He loved life, loved a good beer, enjoyed his work as a chartered quantity surveyor, and was anticipating a new project when he was felled by the stroke at 80.
He also knew how to accept the unchangeables, facing them with cool detachment and no regrets. "Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be" was his attitude, and this was among the earliest song lyrics I heard as he played the record of Doris Day numbers over and over.
Initially, I had some reservations about leaving the sunset scene in his room; it seemed a tad too close for comfort. He had suffered a series of strokes and was obviously in the last stretch of his life. Then I pictured the vista as daybreak. So the painting stayed put.
I had also brightened his room with another painting -- a 24-inch square canvas of sunflowers.
The floral theme echoed his benign nature. The sunflowers reflected his unwavering grace towards me despite my many flaws as a daughter; and the joie de vivre he exuded despite his debilitation, until he left us four months ago in July.
Cheers, Papa, till we meet again.
