My Father and My Brothers

My father always dreamed of having a barnyard amount of kids. Not sure if it’s because he only had one sister or because he wished he had brothers, but either way, he always said, “We could have two or three more.”

Just so you know, there are five of us and if there really was “room for one more” we’d be sitting on top of each other.

My siblings and our father

The five of us includes two older sisters (both born in the late 80s), then me (born in 95), then our two surprises (both born in the early 2000s). A lot of people would say the age gap between my father and my two youngest brothers is a lot and could make for a strained father-son relationship, but no, the age gap is not what made it so strained.

What strained their relationship with their father is actually the Parkinson’s and the way it kind of took over our worlds.

I saw him in his prime

For me, I saw my dad in the prime of life. I mean, prime is relative. Sure the guy had four heart attacks, a couple of stents, and one open heart surgery during my formative years.

But he’d always be up again the next day or the next week and be back at work. He’d always be pushing himself to be strong and fight off the weakness.

My brothers see a different man

For my brothers though, they have a different dad. They were 15 and 13 respectively when my father got diagnosed and by then we already knew for some time he was a different person.

The man they see is different than the man I saw in high school. Not like he wasn’t difficult then because he sure had his Indian Father moments, believe me. But at least there was hope and a fighting will to live, a need to keep going because it was going to get better.

We’d get more money or we’d figure out the bills. No need to be so angry because if that check bounces we’ll figure it out tomorrow. Somehow, someway, we had moments of hope and joy because we would all figure it out together with him.

Living through heart attacks

Of course, there were times when we thought it couldn’t get any more difficult. Looking back, there was despair and anger. We wondered if he’d ever stop having heart problems, bracing ourselves for an untimely death at any moment. Any chest pain brought on visions of what our life would look like without him.

Hospital stays in and out every few months or years. Hypervigilant for signs of another heart attack. But in between, the nights of routine and dinner and work and school, there was a confidence that he was working to be our father, to stay healthy for his family. I don’t think my brothers get that version of him.

Parkinson's has changed him

The hardest part is asking them to accept their father is not really their father in that he will guide them or take care of them the way they hope. With finances, my father has lost reason and ability to understand what is too much and what isn’t. He doesn’t really know how to navigate social situations anymore and he can’t really work.

His opinion, while valid of course, just doesn’t hold the weight of a strong healthy man. I know my brothers feel lost and like maybe they have to guide themselves as men in this world. On top of all that, for me to ask them to care for their father. The truth is they are his kids, and when he falls, they have to be the one to catch him because no one else will. In old age, what do we have but our kids?

What can I do?

It is unfair to them and I feel for them, but I can’t change their reality. I can only be there for them as their older sister. I can guide them in the ways I was guided. And I can show them our father is not selfish, he’s not uninterested in your lives, he’s simply sick.