Mark and Dad's Most Excellent Adventure

One of the realities of getting older is that our parents get older too.  My Dad is 87 years old. He has been diagnosed with vascular Parkinson's and, over the past year, has experienced recurring falls. My stepmother did an amazing job caring for him, but the situation had become increasingly difficult. When Dad fell, she simply did not have the strength to help him back to his feet. Sometimes he would have to wait on the floor, in the yard, or even on the driveway until a neighbor or friend could come over to help.

His home has been in Sun Valley, California, near Burbank. About two months ago, my sister made a difficult but loving decision. She picked Dad up and moved him into her home.

The change has been remarkable.  My sister and her husband live on the property. Their daughter and son-in-law live there as well. Two great grandchildren fill the house with energy and noise. Another daughter lives just ten minutes away with her husband and four more great grandchildren.  Dad went from living in a house where help was sometimes unavailable to living in the middle of a small village of people who love him.

Recently, my sister's family had plans to be out of town, so I flew down to spend a few days with Dad.  We enjoyed our time together. We shared meals. We talked. We went out to dinner twice. Simply being together was enough.

Then an idea popped into my head.  "Dad, do you want to go see Yosemite?"

His answer was immediate and enthusiastic, "Yes!"

The next morning, we got up early and began what I named "Mark and Dad's Most Excellent Adventure."

As we drove into Yosemite Valley, I watched Dad's face more than I watched the scenery.

The viewpoint overlooking the valley stopped him in his tracks. The carpet of trees stretching across the valley floor. The massive granite walls. The sheer scale of the place.

Dad got out of the car and took it all in.  Then came Bridalveil Falls, followed by El Capitan followed by Yosemite Falls and then Half Dome.

The adventure lasted only about four hours. Dad only got out of the car once. But that wasn't the point. The point was that for a few hours we weren't focused on doctors, diagnoses, falls, medications, or limitations.  We were simply father and son on an adventure.  An impromptu idea became a lifelong memory.

One of the lessons of QTR is that meaningful moments rarely announce themselves in advance. They don't arrive with invitations or perfect timing. They usually begin with a simple question.  "Want to go?"  If we wait for the perfect opportunity, we often miss it.

Quality Time Remaining isn't about big adventures.  It is about what can we do today to make it meaningful and memorable.  It's about recognizing that our time together is finite and choosing to make something of it while we can.

I don't know how many more adventures Dad and I will have together.  What I do know is that on a beautiful day in Yosemite, we made one more memory.  And that feels like time very well spent.  QTR my friends!