Knitting through tears

It is a very strange and difficult time in a family's life when a loved one is frail, helpless and inching their way towards the end. This is where my family and I are and it's especially bizarre because it's our strong protective father in this position. All my mom, my sister and I can do now is give him kisses, show him love, massage his sore hands, share happy memories with him and just be there by his side. I have all this pent-up frustration about this obscenely sad situation. The Type A personality in me wants to control everything, make it better somehow, but I have had to humbly accept that this is the card we were dealt to play. In addition to my weeknight visits, on the weekends I pack an overnight bag and I go over to my parents' house to sleep. I want to spend as much quality time as I can with them. I have been doing this every weekend since Christmas. Last Saturday I asked my mom to teach me to knit and I have been knitting and knitting ever since that day. I don't know what it is about knitting, maybe the feeling that something is getting made... something tangible is being created out of a ball of yarn. Maybe it's just something I can control right now as my dad slips further and further away. He is awfully close to being locked in now. He can move his right arm with difficulty and the left is even worse. Still he always has a smile for me and he still laughs at my warped sense of humour. When I moved into my own apartment many years ago, my dad prepared a toolbox for me. It's a beautiful vintage wood toolbox and I watched as he filled it with tools that he chose from his own stash. 'This is a flat head. Here's a measuring tape and you should take some sand paper.' It was a pretty complete set of tools. All the basics were there: hammer, various screw drivers, nails, screws, measuring tape, pliers, a wrench... that's just like my dad, supplying me with the tools that I need to fix anything that is broken. Now he's given me the most important tools I'll ever need: the extraordinary example of his courage and undying love. I've never witnessed such bravery as my dad has shown me in the last 18 months since his diagnosis. I would never have believed anyone could be so courageous and so strong in the face of what he is dealing with. He has never complained, never shown any self-pity, never asked, 'Why me?' I have never been so in awe of my dad and all the while, I still wish I never had to see this side of him so soon but I am blessed to call him my father.