Dad (2016-2017)
I was on the road for what felt like the thousandth time that year, headed down to New Jersey to pick my father up and drive him back to my place in Boston. But this would be the last time I would be picking him up. It was a rescue mission. I was going to save both my father and myself.
My dad was an artist, teacher and writer, and at the age of 94, was still living alone in his apartment of 60 years, easily navigating his native New York City and still completely self-reliant. On weekends he would take the bus through the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey and stay at his longtime girlfriend Kathy's place, a boarding house she ran for Japanese businessmen, where my father loved to play host and hold court.
Eighteen months before that last drive I got a call from Kathy that my father was in a New York hospital emergency room. The diagnosis was heart failure. Thus began an extremely difficult 18 month period for all of us. My father, much weakened, and very unsteady on his feet, could no longer stay in his apartment, so he temporarily moved in with Kathy. They were both used to living on their own so when my father moved in with her, both of them had a difficult time. The stress was intense, and they needed relief, so every other week I would put my life on hold, drive from Boston to New Jersey and take my dad off Kathy's hands, giving them both a break from one another.
As my father's decline continued his living in New Jersey became unsustainable, and I knew a change needed to occur. I began researching assisted living facilities with the idea of permanently moving him close to me. When one day I got a desperate call from both my father, and then five minutes later from Kathy, asking me to pick him up immediately so he could live with me for a month, I came to get him, knowing it was going to be my final drive down to the Garden State.
My father, brother David (who flew in from California), and I lived together at my house for six weeks before moving dad into an assisted living facility. He had always been a difficult person, not trusting many people and always trying to control his life, but once he was willing to put his care into my hands he found much inner peace and relief.
As my father's health declined further I began to photograph him more and more, knowing that there wasn't much time left. My photographs of him were a collaboration between us, and we often talked about the project that we were doing. He had always enjoyed having me take his photograph, and he would often perform for the camera. My father once said to me “Josh, your photographs seem like every person you shoot is family”. It was the biggest compliment he ever gave me, even though shooting him made the statement true for him.
I was holding my father's hand when he passed away in the hospital. He had told me a number of times that he was ready to go, and when he finally did there was an acceptance of death, and a calm and love in his eyes that I will never forget.
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