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our own eyes. It grew increasingly hard to do. At home in the evenings, my
father spent much of his time watching basketball and hockey games on TV,
appearing weak and exhausted in his chair. In addition to his feet, there seemed
to be something swelling in his neck now, we’d noticed. It put an odd rattle in
his voice.

We finally staged a sort of intervention one night. Craig was never one to be
the bad cop, and my mother stuck to her self-imposed cease-fire on matters of
my father’s health. In a conversation like this, the role of tough talker almost
always fell to me. I told my dad that he owed it to us to get some help and that I
planned to call his doctor in the morning. Grudgingly, my dad agreed, promising
that if I made the appointment, he would go. I urged him to let himself sleep late
the next morning, to give his body a rest.

We went to bed that night, my mother and I, feeling relieved that we’d
finally gained some control.

y father, however, had divided loyalties. Rest, for him, was a form of
giving in. I came downstairs in the morning to find my mother already departed
for work and my dad sitting at the kitchen table with his walker parked next to
him. He was dressed in his navy-blue city uniform and struggling to put on his
shoes. He was going to work.

“Dad,” I said, “I thought you were going to rest. We’re getting you that
doctor’s appointment...”

He shrugged. “I know, sweetie,” he said, his voice gravelly from whatever
new thing was wrong in his neck. “But right now, I’m fine.”

His stubbornness was packed beneath so many layers of pride that it was
impossible for me to be angry. There was no dissuading him. My parents had
raised us to handle our own business, which meant that I had to trust him to
handle his, even if he could, at that point, barely put on his shoes. So I let him
handle it. I stuffed down my worries, gave my dad a kiss, and took myself back
upstairs to get ready for my own workday. I figured I’d call my mother later at
her office, telling her we’d need to strategize about how to force the man to take
some time off.

I heard the back door click shut. A few minutes later, I returned to the
kitchen to find it empty. My father’s walker sat by the back door. On an impulse,