The Divine Potter

A Special Kind of Love

Susan’s dad, Wayne House, lay in his bed finally succumbing to a long fight against Parkinson’s Disease, or perhaps the fight is not yet over.   Dad has lived with us almost exactly 6 years.  When he moved down from Springfield, Va., in 2009, we were surprised that he was able to drive around in the D.C. traffic at the age of 91.  Most younger people would have trouble with the traffic and changing landscape.  His whole life he loved driving people around wherever they needed to go.  He was that kind of guy, always happiest when he could drop us off in downtown Washington at the Smithsonian, so that we wouldn’t have to mess with parking the car.  When not working long hours as a pharmacist/manager at People’s Drug Store, dad was always running errands for his family.  He just wanted to make everybody happy.

     It must have been hard these past six years to sit in his chair while being waited on.  Parkinson’s has stripped him of that joy of serving.  It has taken away almost everything that defines who we are as humans.  Perhaps my writing this paper will give back, at least in my own mind, the dignity that he deserves.  Susan has held on to this vanishing quality throughout this journey.  When it might have been easier to offer less dignified treatment, she has chosen the most respectful way.  Many have said that dying of Parkinson’s is ugly and hard.  Dignity often is sacrificed.  So, we must first recognize that we owe gratitude to Susan for preserving dad’s dignity and honor.   Parkinson’s took away about every ability that dad had, but until the last days he still sits at his desk daily and reads his Bible.

     This honor is well deserved.  So, it is with aging and dying.  One loses his capacities that are cherished and valued.  The care givers who come in and out of our house know little of the man dad was.  It is through our stories that we find relevance and dignity in dark places.  It is also through the honorable traits of dad’s children and those of us whom he touched that we see dad’s character.  

      Hot sauce.  Whenever I think of dad, hot sauce seems to be a big part of his life.  For years we have literally bought Texas Pete by the gallon.  Over half of his gifts from his family for Christmas and birthdays have been bottles of various hot sauces.   When I think of dad and hot sauce, I think of a great big grin.  It is a metaphor for enjoying life.   Dad always found a way to spice things up.  Family was always in awe of how much he could eat and how much hot sauce he would pour on his food.   I believe dad enjoyed many things in abundance.  They were often the small things in life.  They didn’t run too deep, unless one follows the hot sauce through to its natural end.  Most people enjoyed being around dad, because they knew their lives would be enriched by something out of the ordinary, like hot sauce. 

      Getting lost.  I very well remember our family vacation to Niagara Falls in 1982.  Susan, Allison and I drove up to Springfield, and we all piled into the LTD sedan for the trip.  The women sat in the back, little Allison in the middle between her mom and grandmamma.  I got to sit shotgun.  Dad always drove.  I was thrilled to go back to Niagara Falls again, since my family made that trip when I was only 4 years old.  On this trip the thing I remember most occurred on the drive back.  I was navigating, or at least I thought I was.  Somehow dad took a turn off of the turnpike and headed straight towards the center of Pittsburgh.  Despite screaming to turn around, dad needed to take this detour, extending our drive home by perhaps a couple of hours.   In 1982 Pittsburgh was not a place anyone wanted to drive through.   We were all unhappy, but dad had a smile on his face.  He enjoyed the journey, wherever he was.  I thought that was an important lesson for me to learn.  That topic will of course preach, and dad lived it.  He knew we’d get there eventually.  I often get so focused on the destination that I totally miss the journey.  It was a special gift for dad to enjoy getting there.

     Covering the tab.  One of our favorite things to do on our visits to Springfield was to eat at Old Country Buffet, about 10 miles down the road.  Of course, watching dad put down twice as much food as anyone else was our best entertainment.  We did eat out as a family at least once per visit despite the incredible home cooked meals served by Susan’s mom.  Dad always grabbed the ticket to pay for all of us.  Susan and I could have paid for our meals.  I was taught that we should share this cost.  You pay this time, and I’ll pick up the next.  However, that didn’t fly with dad.  Paying for all his family gave dad great joy, even well into his retirement.  So, I swallowed my pride, and I learned another lesson.  Be extravagant in your love and show it when possible.  A man of few words and hugs, dad let his love be known through his actions.

     Devotion.  The greatest lesson I learned was one of compassion and devotion dad showered onto Eloise.  Eloise’s memory began to slip in her early 60’s.  Her path followed a downward slide due to Alzheimer’s for many years.  Dad demonstrated a devotion to her that is rare and Christ-like.  I would call this devotion self-sacrificing, but dad would call it ordinary.  I can only hope that God would give me the grace and power to be like dad in loving his family with limitless love.  For years after Eloise’s passing dad carried fresh flowers to her grave almost daily.  We all knew what a great person and mother Eloise was.  Dad loved her deeply with a heart that was born in and created by God.  

     I watch Susan strokes her dad’s hair, as she sits by his side and gently touches him.  I see her dad sitting by Eloise’s side in tears and prayer.  Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for another (John 15:13).   I am comforted by the character and Godly love of this family.  I thank dad for showing me about these things.