Three weeks ago I vividly remember standing in our bathroom getting ready to drive to my hometown and go to my parents' house. I remember how much I really didn't want to go. I had only been finished working at our old house for about two weeks and still felt like there was so much to do here at the new one so that we weren't constantly living among boxes. And the fact that we had moved further away meant that the entire thing was going to take an hour longer in the car than it would've if we had lived at our house...I wanted to just stay home.
And then I mentally scolded myself. I should be grateful that I could help my parents, and even more grateful that my dad was still here. Mom made a pot of sloppy joe's for lunch, and the kids occupied themselves watching TV and playing with some toys there. Andrew and I, with some help from Robert, spent the day moving furniture around and doing some other little odd jobs that would help them out. My dad was having a fairly good day, and even came in and sat with us for awhile. At one point we all kind of became slap-happy, and I remember thinking how good it felt for all of us to be laughing.
As it turns out, that was the last time I ever got to see Dad. I regret that he was asleep when we left, but I did get to talk to him on the phone one more time after that (although I was in the process of losing my cell signal and that was less than ideal as well). Strangely, the memory of looking into his room and seeing him sleeping is absolutely seared into my memory. I am eternally grateful that our last visit was full of so much laughter...I take great comfort in that.
No comments:
Post a Comment