This was partially prompted by Phil's (Luvmysuper) comments recently that 'it's only shaving', and he's quite right - internerd yakking about techniques and tools is pretty much that; we're all sad and weird bunch in that respect. But some experiences can make you realise what the ritual can mean, and that it does have importance.
I feel a little odd sharing this, but intense situations bring about odd reactions. I thought twice (a number of times) about posting, as it seemed trite and disrespecting at first, and this is very personal. But I then remembered Dave Eggers' Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Jon Franzen's memoirs - both talking about similar family experiences, and so I think the message contained is worthwhile and important.
My father died at home on Wednesday, after a brief fight against a voracious cancer, two days after I shaved him for the second time. I was with him, and whilst he was in no pain, nor conscious, it was not what I would call a peaceful exit.
He'd tried shaving with the electric I gave him a few months ago, but it hurt, so he'd stuck to doing a patchy and nick-ridden job with his cartridge. He couldn't do anything himself in these last few weeks, and no doubt felt most dignity had been eroded. Given this, he refused to let the incoming caregivers shave him, and told them 'My son will do it'.
He disliked being unshaven, and rarely has been. Not only was the stubble physically uncomfortable for him recently, but he probably felt he was holding onto some remaining dignity by being clean-shaven, even if he still had to give up some for it to happen.
It also moved me to invade his emotional space. My father and I have never been expressively close, because he was never a talker. I've always found it sad he couldn't express himself this way, and I'm doing my best to do things differently with my children. But he did have a gift for the written word, and having recently (and very maturely) graduated in this discipline, I like to think I inherited this from him.
I tried to do this as well as possible for him. I used my brush and some Proraso as he only had an old can of foam and some recently bought shave oil. I prepped him with the oil, made a nice lather, and shaved him with a cart. I did a good job without hurting him, and he thanked me for it. I tried to joke with him that it was probably his first barbershop shave; that they're charging $60+ for this these days. It raised a weak smile. It was as simple as that, and I didn't know then, that he only had those two shaves left in him.
I attach no faux poignancy to it now, because that's how it feels if I did so. But given I've spent a few months accruing stuff, and thinking about this whole shaving thing, I think those few moments will make me see the act of shaving a little differently.
Some cancers, like Bowel cancer, have no symptoms til it too late to do anything but buy some time; even then, it may not be much. Find out which ones are 'silent', be educated, know your family history and get checked out at the appropriate age. With the proliferation of cancers today, you simply cannot afford not to. Cancer does not discriminate against age, sex or income, nor does it care how well you look after yourself physically.
I feel a little odd sharing this, but intense situations bring about odd reactions. I thought twice (a number of times) about posting, as it seemed trite and disrespecting at first, and this is very personal. But I then remembered Dave Eggers' Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Jon Franzen's memoirs - both talking about similar family experiences, and so I think the message contained is worthwhile and important.
My father died at home on Wednesday, after a brief fight against a voracious cancer, two days after I shaved him for the second time. I was with him, and whilst he was in no pain, nor conscious, it was not what I would call a peaceful exit.
He'd tried shaving with the electric I gave him a few months ago, but it hurt, so he'd stuck to doing a patchy and nick-ridden job with his cartridge. He couldn't do anything himself in these last few weeks, and no doubt felt most dignity had been eroded. Given this, he refused to let the incoming caregivers shave him, and told them 'My son will do it'.
He disliked being unshaven, and rarely has been. Not only was the stubble physically uncomfortable for him recently, but he probably felt he was holding onto some remaining dignity by being clean-shaven, even if he still had to give up some for it to happen.
It also moved me to invade his emotional space. My father and I have never been expressively close, because he was never a talker. I've always found it sad he couldn't express himself this way, and I'm doing my best to do things differently with my children. But he did have a gift for the written word, and having recently (and very maturely) graduated in this discipline, I like to think I inherited this from him.
I tried to do this as well as possible for him. I used my brush and some Proraso as he only had an old can of foam and some recently bought shave oil. I prepped him with the oil, made a nice lather, and shaved him with a cart. I did a good job without hurting him, and he thanked me for it. I tried to joke with him that it was probably his first barbershop shave; that they're charging $60+ for this these days. It raised a weak smile. It was as simple as that, and I didn't know then, that he only had those two shaves left in him.
I attach no faux poignancy to it now, because that's how it feels if I did so. But given I've spent a few months accruing stuff, and thinking about this whole shaving thing, I think those few moments will make me see the act of shaving a little differently.
Some cancers, like Bowel cancer, have no symptoms til it too late to do anything but buy some time; even then, it may not be much. Find out which ones are 'silent', be educated, know your family history and get checked out at the appropriate age. With the proliferation of cancers today, you simply cannot afford not to. Cancer does not discriminate against age, sex or income, nor does it care how well you look after yourself physically.
