The Sprinkler

I got home the other day, when I was back home, and quickly parked my car, and headed for the front door. As I passed our front lawn I noticed a sprinkler head that had broken off, leaving the bare piping in the ground. Surely to create a geyser of water shooting up in the air the next time the sprinklers turned on. Normally I wouldn't take a second notice, "Dad will fix it," He always had. For the past 20 years living in the U.S. I think my dad took more joy in tending to his gardens than anything else in his life. Whether it was laying out the sprinkler system in our first house and forcing my brother and I into hours of manual labor clearing the grass less lawn of all the rocks, or begging us to spend ten minutes helping him plant flowers in the backyard of the house we live in now. My brother and I had an endless number of excuses to get out this work, and while my dad would be annoyed at time, in general he didn't mind. This was his passion and he probably took a great deal of pride knowing he was responsible for the beautiful gardens we enjoyed every year. He did take great offense though, when we would come home after a long period away and not notice his new flowers or added trees.
As we lay in front of the TV he'd beg "please just come outside and walk through the garden for five minutes....," "look at the new pomegranate trees I planted," "look how the fig trees flowering this year, I have to find a way to keep the birds away." His endless struggle with the squirrels and birds in our backyards is legendary. I guess it was never a struggle though, more of a give and take because whenever he'd find a new nest in one his trees he'd go to great lengths to protect it and ensure its survival, knowing well that when those chicks grew up they were going to be ones feasting on the bounty of his labor driving him crazy.
Again we'd use excuses or yell back we'd seen it and it was very nice, "great job dad" not really paying attention, just humoring him so he'd leave us alone, to watch the Laker game, or sportscenter, or some other none sense. Ever since I developed an interest in photography he's begged me endlessly to spend time taking pictures of his gardens, wanting to preserve something that was all to temporary. I never did, maybe a picture here and there, but I never gave it the attention I should have. Funny because when I was actively interested in photography my greatest complaint was I didn't have anything to photograph. I'd look at magazines longing to travel to desert or the ocean or the forest or somewhere to take great pictures, all the while reading comments from great photographers stating that the great eye finds the most beautiful subjects in his own backyard. Why did I never understand that? I wish I had, I really wish now that I would have spent days photographing every square inch of that yard, every flower, every tree, every bush, every tomato plant... everything, why didn't I?
Back to the broken sprinkler, strangely this time when I noticed it I paused, I gave it a second thought. "Whose going to fix this?" a devastating thought for me, I wish I knew how to express this accurately. My dad who had fixed everything from the garden to the car, to the house, to our family, I now felt could no longer fix a stupid sprinkler. I denied this though, surely he's not that sick. I picked up the sprinkler head ran inside and found him laying on the couch.
"Dad, the sprinklers broken in the front yard, you want to me to go out and buy what you need to fix it."
I wanted so bad to hear, don't worry about it, I'll take care of it just leave it there...
instead he glanced at the sprinkler uninterested and said,"don't worry about it the gardener will be here next week he'll fix it."
As so often happens when faced with a moment of great signficance, I ignored it, I knew how horrifying that statement was, but I choose to move on. I told myself I'll fix it, make him proud... I didn't I left the sprinkler head on the table and moved on, knowing full well that you can't let a sprinkler stay broken for a week...
Three days later the day I was to fly back, I heard my dad yell out,"did you fix the sprinkler." "No," I responded, "I thought you said the gardener would fix it."
I've never seen my dad so disappointed before, I couldn't believe how much of an idiot I was...
I had to fix that sprinkler, I ran to the garage grabbed the tools and went to work, an hour later I completed the task that would have taken my dad ten minutes, but had successfully fixed the problem. I couldn't be more proud. I ran to the living room where he still lay, groaning, proudly exclaiming that I had fixed it and that he didn't have to worry about it.
He thanked me, and said,"wow I can't believe you actually fixed it." Words that I was proud of at the time, but now bring me great shame. Would I have actually left that house with out performing the simplest of tasks to help him out? Am I that useless?
Now I wonder whose going to take care of all those things my father did when he was well. What's going to happen to our beautiful garden, our house, our life... if anyone was a foundation for a family my father was, not just for ours but other families, those of his brothers and sisters in Iran, those of his friend who had died a few years ago, what will we all do.
He'll go to the oncologist today, and find out his fate, his probable fate, they've been wrong before. Its natural I guess when faced with this situation to think I wish I would have taken advantage of the time we had, I wish I would have listened to him more, I wish I would have watched him fix a sprinkler so it wouldn't take me an hour fumbling around before I finally figured it out, but those thoughts are overshadowed by my fear that I won't get to see him do the things that made him so happy anymore.
If his fate his heaven which it surely is, I pray its one huge garden with a slope so he can plant flowers and trees, and build that waterfall he had always planned to build in our backyard.