A way this man, showed intimacy toward his own young sons and grandchild, translated…
My father doesn’t exercise much, sweat only a little bit, with his getting older, he’d stopped taking his baths daily, and he’d only bathed once every couple of days now, and so, my mother would often nagged about how uncleanly he is. My father doesn’t read the health sections of the news, doesn’t know, that the dermatologists advise the elderly not to take baths every single day, due to their lacking in the sebaceous gland secretions, it seemed, if he’d listened to the messages from his body, and gone with his own body’s demands, completely, ignored my mother’s nagging.
We have an older style tub at home, made with the red, white and blue mosaic tiles, the bathroom wasn’t big at all, and my father doesn’t use the bath salts to soak, used that fuzzy ball that dissolved in water to take his baths, adding few drops of essential oils, or put on some soft music, to help himself relax when he’s taking his baths. On the days my father finally decided to bathe, he would put on a huge tub of hot water, until the steam took up the bathroom slowly, and the small green tiles of the bathroom walls vanished, and the walls, subsided, and that scene became, a classic of my father going to take a bath. In my imaginations, he’d lain back down into the tub, soaked himself up completely in the warm water, completely relaxed, and if he was in there long enough, he’d probably, sweated a little bit. I’d wondered, if my father felt he was, adrift in the blue seas? Or that it may feel like he’s back in the womb, surrounded by the amniotic fluid, feeling safe and sound? I’d often suspected, that he’d, conducted some sort of a mystic rituals in his bath, because, after twenty, to thirty minutes in the bath, the bathroom doors would open, and my father would stand, with his back against the light, appeared, out of the smoke screens, and, I’d felt, that I was seeing him when he was a lot younger, walking through, that tunnel of time, face full of energy, looking pleased.
Normally, when my father has a cold or wasn’t feeling well, or when his kidney malfunctioned, causing him to bloat, he would take a bath, to help himself feel better, for him, bathing not only has the purpose of getting himself cleaned up, it also helped him relax, a way he can relax himself, to allow himself to heal up.
Most of my other families would shower, quick and easy, but not my father. Before he retired, he’d worked on the fishing boats far off, and didn’t come home every two, three years, with a different habit from the rest, my father loved taking baths, it was, an extravagant thing to me. I became, really curious, on how he’d resolved his baths when he was out to sea? Later I’d heard my father described to me, that the limited space on the fishing ships was very calculated, in the cramped up bathrooms and the showers, it’d only allowed the room for turning the body around, there’s, no room for a tub. Besides, fresh water was hard to come by too, and so, showers became, an extravagant to the fishermen onboard. Even as they’d gotten so many fish from their catches, and with the stink all over their bodies, they weren’t allowed, to shower every single day either. And, the vast ocean water wasn’t as sticky as the ocean water close to home, so, the way they’d showered was using the sea waters first, then, washed themselves with the unsalted water again, then, they’d, toweled themselves off. I think, in his two, three years out to sea, other than needing to put up with the loneliness of being by himself in the vast oceans, he’d also needed to, put up with not being able to take his favorite baths too, and, could all of this had, compounded to how much he’d enjoyed his bath now?
and, as our parents aged…photo from online…
Only my youngest brother was, influenced by my father in this measure. After he married and had child, he’d bought a huge wooden barrel, and started, passing this tradition down, and bath time became, a special father and sons moment shared by him and his two sons, his behaviors made me wonder: was my youngest brother trying, to make up for the closeness he’d lacked with my father from when he was, a young child. And whenever my father visited him, my youngest brother would have my two nephews share a bath with him, my nephews had washed my father’s back, and it’d made my father who didn’t smile much regularly grin ear to ear. As they’d gone out to travel, the hotel bathtub became the playground for the grandfather and grandsons, they’d played along, until the bath water turned cold, their skins, all wrinkly, and finally, my nephew was, willing to, be carried up. I think, my father must’ve felt the regrets from his own long-term absence in his children’s coming of age, and now, he’d hoped, to make up for the time he’d lost.
A week after the New Year last year, my father got into a car wreck, the airbag popped up and he’d injured his ribs, his fingers, and had bruises on his face too, the second day after his hospitalization, he’d started having difficulties breathing, the level of oxygen in his blood dropped sharply, he was, rushed into the I.C.U., intubated, he was, in critical condition at one time. After he became more stabilized, my father can recognize his loved ones. And, as he got better slowly, he’d disconnected his own tubes while the nurses weren’t watching him closely enough. The intubation damaged his trachea, and he can only speak in the airy sounds, and used the writings to convey his thoughts to us. He’d told us with a frown, that it’s uncomfortable to be intubated, that it stank, was unsanitary, that he wanted to go home, to take a bath. But, no matter what, the doctors won’t sign the release, for him, to back in the normal wards, how can he be discharged from the hospital? And so, every time we visited, my father always threw his temper tantrums, told us, that the hospital wasn’t sanitary, that he’d wanted to take a bath.
Later, as he became even more stabilized, the doctor finally agreed to allow my father to check into the normal wards. But, in just a few short days, his mucus started accumulating, he was having difficulties breathing again, the nurses called the doctor emergently, and after checking him, the doctor asked my younger brother and I for getting my father intubated again, and transferred into the I.C.U. once again. As my father heard the conversations we were having with the doctors, he’d started crying.
The second time he went into the I.C.U., he’d not waken up again.
On the way to getting my father’s body to the crematorium, I kept seeing the last time he was conscious, clearly stated his wishes, and, I didn’t know if he knew what his conditions were, that he just thought, that taking a soak will alleviate his pains, so, he’d wanted to try and heal himself up through this method? Or that he’d already, known what was coming, and wanted to leave everything behind, with a clean body?
So, this, is from a man’s younger years, into his elderly years, and death, he’d loved bathing, as it was a time where he can be intimate with his own children, and then, his grandchildren, and, this elderly used bathing together with his own sons and grandsons, to show the love he felt for his offspring, and, taking baths together, became the way, that this elderly man connected with his own younger generations, but unfortunately, he wasn’t, able to do it, for the final, AND last time, before he passed away.