Let me tell you a story about my Mom and Dad. I’m sitting around one day drinking some wine
– the day that my Dad came home from a 5 day hospitalization for
bronchitis. And all of a sudden, I
realize that I haven’t been crazy worried about my Dad this week. Not that I didn’t care. I did.
I called and talked to him every day.
I got a blow by blow from him on what medicine he had taken, the bowel
movements he’d had, and the Doctors prognosis and how they came to that
conclusion based on these tests that they performed and an update on his latest
roommate and what condition he was in and that he had overheard the nurse
asking this interesting fella about where he was from . . . (and on and on and
on . . . )
and I chit-chatted with Mom as she
ran errands in her cute little car and her cute little outfit and “Wouldn’t it
be nice to get a coke on ice?”, and “I have to get my hearing aid checked when
I leave here”, and “Did you know Madison is still running a fever”, and “How’s
Riley doing since his vet appt yesterday?” . . . . (and I got regular updates
from Mom on how they were both doing.)
And then he came home, and you’re
all like YAY – Dad can get in his recliner and take a long nap, and Mom will
bring him soup and remind him to take his medicine, even though he had already
set his alarm for when he needed to take his medicine and that alarm had
already gone off and he had already taken that medicine.
