I took dad to the bookstore the other day.  He’s always told me his books are his friends since he doesn’t have any close friends.  The last time I took him there, he leaned on his cane as he crouched gingerly looking for books that would interest him.  He hated the cane and didn’t want to use his walker.  He staunchly declared “I’m not like those other old folks.”  I would suffer minor heart attacks as he shakily bent over and peer at the titles.  This time though, he came prepared with a list.  I was surprised.  We soon found a salesperson and my dad gave her the list.

The list was carefully written with his must have books by 10 authors.  He was also clear that if that book wasn’t available, he would consider others.  The sales clerk looked at the list.  The first name was Albert Camus.  She asked “Albert Camus is the first author?”  “Yes, Alber-kamu”, my dad gently corrected her (and me too).  She went to the computer and searched.  His handwriting was clear despite a couple of fingers gnarled by arthritis.  I see the others on the list  Descartes, Gibbon, Cicero and more.   While I recognized some of the names – the others were a mystery to me and I have already forgotten them by now.  I feel like such an illiterate idiot.  

Some of the books were at the store and some weren’t.  She went to the shelves to get the books while we sat down and returned within a few minutes.  He got his prized “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire – Volume 1 to 6″.  I warned him that the price was a bit steep (over $150 for the 6 volumes).  But he said it’s six books so it’s not that bad.  I lugged the books with one hand, held his arm with the other and we both shuffled over to the cashier.  The bill was over $200.  He feigned surprise and hinted at a seniors discount.  I almost told the clerk that he buys these books with what’s left from his measly pension.  He pulled out his Amex and signed it with a deep sigh.  But I knew he was almost giddy with joy. 

As soon as we got home, I put the books on the table by his chair.  Within minutes, he pounced on the first book.  I went off to the kitchen to make dinner for him.  During dinner, he told me about the author Edward Gibbon.  He practically gave me his bio.  I checked online afterwards and was it matched.  He has a lot of books so I asked him if he might already have these books somewhere.  He said he didn’t.  He told me he came across an article about one of the books and realized how much he wanted to read them.  He said a lot of these books are classics that scholars have prized.  He was kicking himself for not getting these books earlier.  I keep thinking though that he probably has some of these books before.  But I didn’t really mind.  I realized in some ways, this was his bucket list and he was happy getting these books.

He lamented to me that none of his neighbours were serious scholars and readers.  After dinner, I washed the dishes while he went back to the living room sofa to be with his new friends.

I’ve been spending a lot of time at my dad’s place during the summer helping him clean the basement after it got flooded from a drainage problem.   It really hasn’t been cleaned in
years and  the basement  was simply being used for storage.  We had to move all the furniture and stuff into another part of the basement so that the contractors could do their repairs.  But before we could do that, we had to clean out a lot of stuff to make room.   My dad isn’t one to
throw away magazines, books and the numerous newspaper clippings.  Mom kept lots of stuff too – just in case we
needed it again.  Both grew up in the war
where you simply don’t throw things out. 
So I understand the emotional need to hang on to things.  It was tough gathering some of my mom’s
clothes and getting them bagged for donation.  What got me was the smell of the clothes.  I swear I could still smell her but maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.  We also carefully sorted
through her old paintings.  She was a
very talented painter.  I marveled at her
skill.  As a child I would watch her arrange her rice papers, prepare the various inks.  The only time I could help was washing her brushes.  As she got older, her arthritis made it impossible to paint anymore.  But she never complained. We moved all of her paintings upstairs and the rest of her papers and brushes went to my brother’s place and my condo. 

Dad couldn’t bear to see us throwing or donating so many things.  From time to time, he would come down to see what was going on.  My sister or my brother would take turns shooing him back upstairs.  He was in agony when he saw some of the things
being  hauled away.  He was particularly worried that we
would throw out his books and magazines.  I made several trips to my bf’s
place with boxes and boxes of books.  I assured him that I wasn’t throwing out his books. 

Later I sat down with him and told him he has too many books and magazines.  He’ll need to make some tough decisions on what to keep and what to donate.  I tried to tell him that others could make use of these books and it wasn’t doing anything just sitting in the basement.  I encouraged him to start thinking of which ones he could donate.  His lowered his eyes and told me softly that he doesn’t have any friends or close relatives anymore and these books are his companions right now.  I swallowed hard and looked away.  I mumbled something but those softly spoken words hit me very hard. 

The basement is all repaired now with new carpets and walls.  His book cases are back up and it’s jammed full.  He knows he still has many, many books that are in boxes.  He reminded me about the books at my bf’s place.  I told him I will bring them back little by little but he needs to make room for them. 

I’ve been thinking how to clean up all of his things when he passes on.  Right now, it’s easy for me to decide that his books will be donated or sold off.  But I know when the time comes, it won’t be easy for me to part with his friends.