So, a great morning that started with M opening gifts from us and having a big waffle breakfast. Church was pretty wonderful too; Olivia got to show off her mad acolyte skillz last week and this week she gave Emma a little tutorial and she had her turn. Very sweet.
The afternoon, however, was a little. . .mixed. The kids and I went over to see my dad to give him a card and some homemade cupcakes. I also have a photo collage in the works to put by his bed but it wasn't ready yet. So we went over and he was dressed nicely as usual, thanks to Danny, the newest of our three caregivers.
But, here's the thing. Due to the Parkinson's, or the Alzheimer's, or whatever evil I can blame this thing on, my dad is losing his ability to speak. He can gurgle the occasional word or two, but mostly he just stares. He tries to smile when he sees the kids, and he reaches out for them---they still snuggle up to him, God bless their hearts. I love them so much it hurts sometimes, I swear.
I often think how this must be so scary for them, seeing someone they remember as being so strong and capable turn into someone they barely recognize.
Or maybe, it's just scary for me.
Because these two children that I live with, the same ones who can drive me straight up a wall, the same ones who I nearly offered up for sale yesterday at the Farmer's Market when they whined for a drink two seconds after we were out of the car---they're not afraid. To them, he's just Grandpa, and he's sick but he's still kissable and huggable and worthy of all their Sunday School artwork.
The fact that I may never hear my dads voice again---and God, right now I'd even settle for him on his grumpiest days, days when he was telling us all to go to hell---this makes me want to scream. But seeing these two munchkins climb on their grandpa like the old days, makes me think I can hold it in another day.