My Mom had to leave for work in a couple of hours. She was cleaning the kitchen and then had to get ready for work.
My Dad was sitting on the couch. His usual spot sense he got home from the hospital. He has a hint of color to him. Not much. He is still so very pale. And . . . he is so thin.
He lost over twenty pounds in the first two weeks after his surgery. It's just too much weight to lose.
I told him a week before that he needs to eat. "I don't want to. Everything tastes funny," he tells me.
"I know, Dad. I understand. But your body is using a lot of calories to just heal itself. Drink those protein drinks. That will help."
I walk into the house, say hello, ask him how he's doing.
"Not bad." That's my dad for you.
My daughter runs to the kitchen to see her Ma maw.
"I had a long conversation with God yesterday. I cried for a good while. I told Him that I wanted Him to heal me and to do it fast. I'm tired of this. I don't like being like this."
His eyes well up with fresh tears.
"I have that same conversation with God all the time. I've had it a lot over the last seven months. Sometimes life . . . it is so hard."
"I cried yesterday for no good reason."
"Dad, I cry every day. At least once. It's okay to cry. And there is always a good reason to cry."
"I don't like this."
"Tell me about it. The healing really hurts."
I grabbed the leash and then Toby (their dog), placed my Dad's shoes at his feet and put a jacket on him.
"The sun is out and it is so warm for the last day of January, lets go for a walk."
We walk, not far, but we walk. It's good to get out of the house sometimes. Specially when you feel little desire to move at all.
I was just doing for my Dad what he did for me immediately after the loss of Emmerson and Vivienne. He would come over, sometimes drag me out of my house and take me over to his, telling me that getting out would do me a world of good.
We return from our short walk and I tell him that I have dinner already cooking in the crock pot. I tell him to get his medication and that he's going to be spending the day at my house.
"I don't have anything at my house that you don't have here, other than different chairs to sit in and walls with different things to look at. It will do you good though."
He tells me that a coconut cream pie sounds good. I go and get him one. I was so excited that something sounded good to him.
Before dinner, he asked twice for something to snack on. I would fetch the goodies for him, all too excited to see him eating. He ate all of his dinner and a piece of pie. When I saw his cleared plate, I felt like a proud mama.
Life is strange sometimes. How places can be traded. How life can take turns and make you appreciative . . . grateful . . . for things, moments that you would not have considered blessings previously.
I haven't done anything huge or magnificent or prize worthy. I am doing for my dad what he had done for me. I'm going over to his house to check on him. I'm bringing him back to my house so he can have a change of scenery.
Breathing love is expressed in all of those little moments that leave an impression . . . leaving a footprint of a memory.