My father is dying. Odds being what they are it would be surprising if he made it to the new year. Ironically it was two years ago this coming week that I had to come back here to help out because he was having surgery to unblock as artery in his neck that was causing him to have small strokes. He hasn’t been well since but has fought very hard to regain his health and independence. He quit smoking and drinking cold turkey. No small feat for a a life-long smoker and a functional alcoholic. He probably would have beaten his way all the way back but for the pulmonary fibrosis which set in a few months after my late husband died.

It seems to me that Dad is ready to go now. He is finally allowing he and mom’s will to be revised to reflect that changes in our family over the last five or so years. He talks openly about not being around much longer. My next younger sister, Katie, told me frankly last night that he is not doing even as well as he looks as though he is doing. The tell-tale sign to me is that he spends most of his time in bed sleeping. It’s one of those that the hospice people would point out when Will was at Kavanaugh House two years ago.

In light of all this, I pinned my sister down last night and we discussed the details that I would never get out of my mother. My sister admitted that she wishes I had moved back here after Will died. She is tired of taking care of the folks on her won as our youngest sister is, as my brother-in-law puts it, “A forty year old with the mind of a sixteen year old” and that is exactly as frustrating and maddening as it sounds. Katie has the power of attorney for both our parents and will make all the decisions once dad dies or goes into the hospital, which I think is unlikely. If he is fighting at all now it is to die at home. Being in Canada, I be the one walking in after the fact and taking instructions. And dealing with Mom. That my sister is emphatic about. Truthfully, I deal with her much better than Kate does and, sadly, I will understand where she is coming from too.

As often happens when we discuss Dad and the final arrangements, the subject of inheritance comes up. My dad grew up quite poor. My grandparents were tenant farmers during the depression and eventually ended up living with my grandmother’s father and working the homestead for him. My uncle eventually managed to buy the place in the mid-sixties but died in 1972 leaving the place to my grandmother who when she died had it divided up among the surviving children. It wasn’t a fortune but it gave my dad the opportunity to invest on a much larger scale than his pay from the meat packing plant ever could. And my dad is one shrewd money man. I have realized since college that he was amassing quite the tidy sum. He has explained bits and pieces to me over the years but I have never factored inheritance into any of my plans the way my siblings have. As it is, a careful person with a head for investing, or a good financial planner, could live a comfortable life with what my dad plans to leave behind for his children and grandchildren. And even though I am not one of those who views insurance money or inheritance as “blood” money, I would prefer not to be made comfortable this way.

Today, we are going out to the old homestead. Perhaps Dad will come along if he feels up to it. I haven’t seen it in years. For some reason I want to visit the old places from my childhood and teenage years. Take pictures. Share memories. Maybe it’s because of Dad or possibly it is the move to Canada and the feeling that I will not live here in the states for any extended length of time again. Whatever the case, the rain has finally stopped and it is a certainty that Rob, Katy and I won’t be seeing sunny day in the low seventies until next summer, so we will be spending our last full day in Iowa outdoors.