Father of his father

* Luís Alberto Alves

Happy is the son, who acquires during his life, strength and maturity to become Father of his parents ..

"There is a break in family history where the ages accumulate and overlap and the natural order is meaningless: it is when the child becomes the father of his father.

It is when the father grows old and begins to trot as if in a fog. Slow, slow, inaccurate.

It is when that father who gripped our hand can no longer stand alone. It is when that father, once firm and insurmountable, weakens at once and takes twice as much breath to get out of his place.

That's when that father, who used to rule and order, today only sighs, only moans, only looks for where the door is and where the window is - everything is corridor, everything is far.

It is when that father, once willing and hardworking, fails to take off his own clothes and will not remember his remedies.

And we as children will do nothing but change roles and accept that we are responsible for that life. That life that has begotten us depends on our life to die in peace.

Every son is the father of his father's death.

Or, who knows, the old age of father and mother is curiously our last pregnancy. Our last teaching. Phase to return the care that has been entrusted to us for decades, to return the love with the friendship of the escort.

And just as we move the house to care for our babies, plugging out jackets and putting in playpens, we will change the routine of the furniture to create our parents.

One of the first transformations happens in the bathroom.

We will be parents of our parents when putting a bar in the shower stall.

The bar is emblematic. The bar is symbolic. The bar is inaugurating an elbow of the waters.

Because the shower, simple and refreshing, is now a thunderstorm for the elderly feet of our protectors. We can not abandon them in any moment, we will invent our arms on the walls.

The house of the one who takes care of the parents has children's arms on the walls. Our arms will be scattered in the form of banisters.

For to grow old is to walk hand in hand with the objects, to grow old is to climb ladders even without steps.

We will be strangers in our residence. We will observe every detail with dread and ignorance, with doubt and concern. We'll be architects, decorators, frustrated engineers. How could we not expect parents to get sick and need people?

We will repent of the sofas, the statues and the snail access, we will repent of every obstacle and carpet.

And happy of the son who is the father of his father before death, and sad of the son who appears only at the funeral and does not say goodbye a little per day.

* Luís Alberto Alves is a pastor