Something was definitely off with Dad’s golf swing. He had a beautiful, smooth swing that would fit right in with anyone on the senior tour honed by years of enjoyment and practice. I heard tell he played golf on his college team once upon a time. But something was off. I’d never seen him do this, but after about 2 and a half holes, he put his clubs in the bag and played caddy to me. He was still up on me, 14 year old novice that I was, but it just wasn’t right. It was the last round he’d play and the last time we’d get out together.
I try to imagine an alternate world where I could text my dad to let him know I finally broke 90, then 80. Heck, I don’t even dare imagine an alternate world where he was right there with me for those milestones. But I guess it’s not unrealistic to think that we’d make plans for him and my mom to visit that would’ve included a discussion of whether or not he’d bring his clubs. I’d like to think so. I don’t think he ever golfed in the Rockies or experienced that drastic shift from sea level to the way the ball soars in our rarified air. I’m sure I would have out-driven him from about age 15 on, but I wonder when or if I’d ever have out-scored him. Probably not. He was too patient, and too careful with his game.
Now, my heart skips a beat every time my mother tackles a short flight of stairs as I can see her becoming more fragile every time she visits. Oh, I’m fine, she’d tell you, that she’s just getting a bit creaky. But Dad’s been gone for over 20 years, and I’ve been fearful since Dad had died of what it would mean if something happened to Mom.
Lou Gherig’s disease was Dad’s nemesis stealing his motor function in his hands. What ended that round was his feeling that he couldn’t get his grip right and couldn’t get to the top of his swing the way he wanted to. Eventually, dementia moved in, and he thankfully died after a relatively short, 3- year bout with the disease.
In many ways, our family is the poster child for the mantra that “anything can happen.” Thankfully, we’re also the poster children for how smoothly these things can go with a decent plan in place.
I hesitate to even bring it up, because the year before things went south with Dad’s health, he and Mom had done the prudent thing by getting their ducks in a row with a retirement advisor and a proper estate plan from a qualified attorney. Dad put in his time with an oil company big enough to offer him this mysterious thing called a pension—one of the last of a generation of white collar workers to get one. They’d offered him an early retirement in lieu of an ageism law suit. There wasn’t a path for advancement for him at that stage, but he’d given good value to the company. As much as they didn’t want to overpay someone for his job, they did want to take care of him, and we’re forever grateful for that.
The reason why I hesitated to bring it up is because I think a lot of people have a latent fear that doing a will or putting a plan together means that we’re going to die. And we are. So we don’t do it. Two-thirds of Coloradans haven’t done it. Guys like us will be there to tidy up, but I remember asking my mom if some attorney in a seersucker was going to come by the house to read Dad’s will, and she kind of smiled and told me not to worry. They’d planned. So I didn’t.
It’s a hopeful gamble that we’ll be able to golf with our grandkids and that things will work out for the best somehow. But if you’re concerned about being in that “anything can happen,” category, it’s time to set that worry to rest. Leave it in the bag. Make your next drive be to our offices for a free consultation. I’d love to hear your story too!
Learn more about Chris Gordan at www.stewartandgordon.com
