By Timothy J. Larkin
The ball, a scuffed Walter Hagen 2, is cemented to a tee, and is mounted to a small polished piece of oak. A brass plaque reads: POLAND SPRING, MAINE, HOLE- IN-ONE, AUGUST 26, 1986. The memento sits on my father's nightstand in his room at the nursing home just outside of Boston.
The ball, a scuffed Walter Hagen 2, is cemented to a tee, and is mounted to a small polished piece of oak. A brass plaque reads: POLAND SPRING, MAINE, HOLE- IN-ONE, AUGUST 26, 1986. The memento sits on my father's nightstand in his room at the nursing home just outside of Boston.
He really was not much of a golfer, but he enjoyed the game immensely. A sub-100 round at the local city-owned course was a triumph. Never one to spend a lot of money, his clubs were branded "Rivalists."
Then, a most remarkable day. While on vacation with my mother, he decided to play a round of golf on the resort's course. My mother chose to sit by the pool.
Paired up with a partner he had never met before and whom he would never see again, he somehow managed to hit his tee shot 148 yards, over a pond and into the cup at the 6th hole of Poland Spring Golf Course. Truth be told, neither of them saw it go in, and they looked around the green for several minutes before looking in the hole.
It would give him pleasure for years to come, and at family gatherings he would seldom fail to remind any of his six children about the accomplishment. Since I was the only son who took up the game, he would also occasionally ask whether I had ever shot a hole-in-one.
My father is ninety-two now and suffers from advanced dementia. Visits to him at his nursing home over the past year have been difficult as each week seems to bring further deterioration. While he remains physically able, his short-term memory has declined markedly over the past few months and the foggy days outnumber the clear ones. He struggles to communicate, often choosing the wrong word or manufacturing words altogether.
We are grateful, though, for the wonderful care that he receives, and comforted by the fact that he is seldom angry or unhappy. We are resigned to the fact that he will never fully regain his memory.
His caregivers suggest that when talking to him you mention people, places, and things from his past, as a way to jog his memory. I try to get him to recall my mother, who passed away ten years ago, or his ailing sister, or his grandchildren, often with little or no success. The family photo album on his dresser brings little response. And, yet, there is that golf ball and plaque. Even on the darkest of days, if I pick up that plaque, and show it to him, and ask whether it was he who shot the hole-in-one, he will light up once more. The twinkle in his eyes returns and he grins. And if I ask how he was able to do that, he may even swing an imaginary club, his smile broadening. With even more prompting, he can even recall that he had a witness, lest there be any doubt about the veracity of the event.
It was for him, I think, his life's greatest achievement. And nothing else comes even close to bringing him back to an earlier, happier, time. Nothing.
Then, a most remarkable day. While on vacation with my mother, he decided to play a round of golf on the resort's course. My mother chose to sit by the pool.
Paired up with a partner he had never met before and whom he would never see again, he somehow managed to hit his tee shot 148 yards, over a pond and into the cup at the 6th hole of Poland Spring Golf Course. Truth be told, neither of them saw it go in, and they looked around the green for several minutes before looking in the hole.
It would give him pleasure for years to come, and at family gatherings he would seldom fail to remind any of his six children about the accomplishment. Since I was the only son who took up the game, he would also occasionally ask whether I had ever shot a hole-in-one.
My father is ninety-two now and suffers from advanced dementia. Visits to him at his nursing home over the past year have been difficult as each week seems to bring further deterioration. While he remains physically able, his short-term memory has declined markedly over the past few months and the foggy days outnumber the clear ones. He struggles to communicate, often choosing the wrong word or manufacturing words altogether.
We are grateful, though, for the wonderful care that he receives, and comforted by the fact that he is seldom angry or unhappy. We are resigned to the fact that he will never fully regain his memory.
His caregivers suggest that when talking to him you mention people, places, and things from his past, as a way to jog his memory. I try to get him to recall my mother, who passed away ten years ago, or his ailing sister, or his grandchildren, often with little or no success. The family photo album on his dresser brings little response. And, yet, there is that golf ball and plaque. Even on the darkest of days, if I pick up that plaque, and show it to him, and ask whether it was he who shot the hole-in-one, he will light up once more. The twinkle in his eyes returns and he grins. And if I ask how he was able to do that, he may even swing an imaginary club, his smile broadening. With even more prompting, he can even recall that he had a witness, lest there be any doubt about the veracity of the event.
It was for him, I think, his life's greatest achievement. And nothing else comes even close to bringing him back to an earlier, happier, time. Nothing.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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