“This is a fresh start. I want this,” I gently urge my dad, who is visibly anxious. “Say it out loud,” I press.
“This is a fresh start. I want this,” he echoes, though his voice trembles.
It’s the evening before his significant move from New Jersey to Long Island, where he’ll be closer to us. Despite advocating for this change, he’s radiating stress like a thunderstorm. The tension in the room is palpable.
Just then, the doorbell rings repeatedly, bustling in my husband and our two younger kids returning from the park. My youngest, with his bright and cheerful face peeking through the window, beams with a smile as wide as the curls spilling out from under his helmet. He’s been practicing on his new roller skates. I swing open the door and place a finger to my lips, signaling for quiet. He nods, still grinning, then awkwardly shuffles over for a hug, a delightful distraction that lifts my spirits.
Weeks earlier, I had asked my dad to pack a single box with books or tapes he couldn’t bear to part with—no small feat for someone who tends to hoard.
“Can I have three boxes?” he negotiates.
“Sure, but let’s begin with one.”
“How about five? Please, five boxes?”
“Alright, but let’s see you pack one first.”
Instead of filling even a single box, he spent the weeks debating the number of boxes he could take and rummaging through items to give away. Now, on moving night, he hasn’t managed to pack anything at all. Thankfully, it doesn’t bother me much; his place is a chaotic mess, and the more stuff he takes, the quicker the new place will turn into another disarray.
“Dad, you don’t need those things anymore. Let’s start anew,” I encourage.
“But collecting these items is all I’ve achieved. I know it seems trivial, but it means something to me.” His voice carries a sense of regret, yet he seems more rational than usual.
“You’ll discover new treasures that will hold significance,” I say, glancing out the window where my middle child and husband toss a ball back and forth on our overgrown lawn, the day fading into twilight. My son leaps back, catches the ball, and the last rays of the sun.
“I need a purpose. I feel lost,” he sighs. “I can’t pack these boxes. It’s too overwhelming. It hurts too much.”
“I understand,” I reply, surprised by my own calmness. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been stressed, dealing with social services, doctors, and advocates for the elderly, all while watching my health decline with weight gain and cold sores.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you new things waiting. You’ll have everything you need,” I assure him.
As I walk past the room where my oldest practices his haftarah for his upcoming bar mitzvah, his melodious voice fills the space with hope, nearly bringing tears to my eyes.
“This is a fresh start,” my dad repeats the mantra, “I want this.”
I look around at the love enveloping me and think that if this doesn’t spark joy in him, I’m not sure what will.
“Great,” I say with conviction. “Because tomorrow, it all begins…”
This article was originally published on June 28, 2015.
For more insightful content about parenting and life, check out IVF Babble, a fantastic resource for pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re looking to boost fertility, visit Make a Mom, an authority on this topic. And for more on our terms, visit Intracervical Insemination Terms and Conditions.
Summary:
In this heartfelt narrative, Jessica shares the emotional journey of helping her father transition to a new life closer to her family. As he grapples with the anxiety of moving and letting go of his possessions, she reassures him about the fresh opportunities ahead, emphasizing the importance of purpose and connection.