hisday lethimhavemorevisitors over.Soonheeven
beganhostingpartiesatourhouseagain.Hefoundthatin
thenarrowspaceofpossibilitythathisawfultumorhad
left for him there was still room to live.
Twomonthson,inJune,IflewhomefromBostonnot
onlytoseehimbutalsotogivethegraduationaddressfor
Ohio University. My father had been excited about
attendingtheconvocationfromthemomentIhadbeen
invitedayearbefore.Hewasproud,andIhadenvisioned
bothmyparentsbeingthere.Littleismoregratifyingthan
actually being wanted back in your hometown. For a
while,however,Ifearedmyfathermightnotsurvivelong
enough. In the lastfew weeks, itbecame apparent he
would, and the planning turned to logistics.
The ceremony was to take place in the university’s
basketballarenawiththegraduatesinfoldingchairson
the parquet and their families up in the stands. We
workedoutaplantobringmyfatheruptheoutsideramp
bygolfcart,transferhimtoawheelchair,andseathimon
theperipheryof thefloor towatch. Butwhen theday
cameandthecartbroughthimtothearenadoors,hewas
adamantthathewouldwalkandnotsitinawheelchair
on the floor.
Ihelpedhimto stand.Hetookmyarm.Andhebegan
walking.I’dnotseenhimmakeitfartherthanacrossa
livingroominhalfayear.Butwalkingslowly,hisfeet
shuffling, he wentthelength ofa basketballfloor and
then up a flight of twenty concrete steps to join the
families in the stands. I was almost overcome just
witnessing it.Hereis whata different kindof care—a