Soul Mirror To the Memory of Samuel G. Denner April 7, 1900 - November 7, 1998. by Richard Denner Photograph by Patti McConville

Around midnight I hear a thump in my dream - a wrecking ball bouncing off the wall, a plane crashing through the roof, an avalanche. No, don't freak - it's only a tidal wave. I'm up in a flash because I know it’s Dad falling.
Sure enough, there he is on his back behind the door, laughing. I ask him what’s so funny? and he gleefully tells me about a forest of huge trees and tiny houses, very neat and clean, with roads elevated above a field, so clear I could touch them.
How profound a few simple images can seem in a dream. Terrifying or exhilarating, yet just a touch beyond comprehension.
I check him for cuts and bruises. A scrape on his knee, a scratch on his cheek, a bump on his elbow. I help him to his feet. Mom is up now and helps get him changed and bandaged and back to bed. Dizziness persists, so I make an appointment with his doctor.
A little fussing about what colour shirt, which hat, old or new slippers. Bring the car to the front of the house, back out the wheelchair, bump down the steps, and we're on our way.
The tech helps Dad onto a platform for a scan. He is gentle and instructive about the process. I'm reading a magazine. There's a Gary Larson cartoon with cows in a classroom I don't get. We wait for the computer to print. The photos show nothing irregular, no tumours or broken blood vessels, so the doctor feels that if Dad had suffered a stroke it would have been very small. The diagnosis seems to be that it is the continued deterioration of blood circulation due to hardening of the arteries. Old age. He's 98. He has a good appetite, a good sign. Mom and I talk things over, trying to get a game plan for the next day, or we will be ground to dust by all Dad's small needs, just getting him dressed, brushed, shaved, washed and polished.
At breakfast he wants to tell me about driving a team of horses to the train station near his family's farm in Iowa. He had trained these horses from colts, and he was proud of them and felt he could drive them anywhere, sure they would co-operate. The steam from a locomotive spooked the team at a place where there was a telegraph pole, and they shied and bolted, one horse going on one side of the pole and one going on the other, stripping off their harness and smashing the yoke and tongue of the carriage. Scraped up the horses pretty good. He said it took a lot of coaxing to get them to pull again.
After this experience, the horses were not of much use. Dad feels useless now that he can't walk and guilty for being a burden.
Important to be ever mindful of the luxury of freedom of movement, control of our body, ability to care for ourselves. Sitting, standing, walking, eating, be joyful. One minute everything is stable and clear and the next, stupid and wobbly. And fear gets up. Demons dance. Dad begins to worry his retirement benefits will stop. His company go broke. Social Security bankrupt. His savings run out. Somebody sue. What if I live another decade? A comet may strike. Martians invade. My legs are failing. I'm going blind. I can't hear. I can't have a bowel movement. Stark photographs.
This is going to take some getting used to. Mom can't handle it all, but I can't stop her from taking the lion's share. Dad can still take baby steps, stand and turn. He doesn't want his leg muscles to atrophy, so I help him walk, although he tires after a few steps. Depression sets in because he doesn't want to be helped. I hold his hand and tell him I love him and that I want him to relax and be with us as long as he is able. A change in his attitude like he has passed a barrier and put his trust in us to care for him. Humble. Quiet. Still wishes he could read the small print, but so do we all. Thankful for this incarnation and opportunity to gain wisdom and merit. Accepting the condition, "All offers subject to credit approval" found at the bottom of the page.