Dad and I both woke up irritable this morning. He wasn’t interested in his breakfast and I always feel a little anxiety when this happens as I watch him push the muffin around his plate. “I’m doing the best I can,” he tells me each time I encourage him yet he still sits there poking at but not eating his food. Rising into my throat, a sadness encased in agitation threatens our morning. Today my parents would have celebrated 42 years of marriage. I try to repress this knowing, to get on with the day. But who am I kidding? I step away for a couple minutes to gather myself and return to find Dad by the window. I take a seat near him and soon after my brother joins us on the opposite couch. “Did you hear him singing last night?” Garrett asks me. Dad sings himself to sleep most nights just as he sang us to sleep most nights throughout our childhood. I guess, when you look at it, he still sings us to sleep. Usually I do hear him. “Last night it was love songs,” brother tells me and I find this fitting. I want to hear one now. I want to hear him sing to Momma. I want to feel her in the tenderness of his voice. I want to remember her in his longing.
3 Comments
How loving beautiful. How my my heart cries for you in sorrow. Try a new pet or two or three. My daughter moved home with her dogs and cats and it sure peeked up her last year of life. My dear mother was having food issues too and she would eat to share with them. Alas, my mothers struggle ended on Memorial Day. She knows peace now. Whatever’s ‘s out there waiting for us all at the end we will each have to wait and see. In the meantime enjoy the little things, stop to smell the flowers.
Kathy
Such a sweet story. Thank you for sharing it. There is no getting around these days, is there? We just muddle through the middle as best we can, grasping onto the sweetness of single moments.
What a wonderful voice your father has!
Thanks for sharing.