Mom leaned over Dad’s hospital bed and kissed his forehead. Dad was as lit as the town drunk on the corner of Chester’s Fried Chicken and Old Hwy. 331. Anesthesia makes him, well, interesting. Back surgery took some things out; it put some things in.
I don’t know which of them will go first - Mom or Dad. Morbid? It’s basically half of every topic Mom brought up today. She even broached the topic of whether she’d live with my brother or I if Dad kicked the bucket first. I informed her my brother and I already flipped for it, and she’s living with him. “Who won the coin toss and got to decide?” she asked? I didn’t answer.
But I saw true love today. Reminded me of a pair of doves. Or an old dog with its human. Or swans. Or that deer I saw on the Interwebs that wouldn’t leave its wounded mate. Mom and Dad roll deep. God help the day we ever really have to figure out where one or the other of them will live.
But that’s the risk of love. With a partner. A child. A dream. It might go awry. It eventually will. And the loss is worth the love experienced.
Some things didn’t matter much today. Most things, in fact. Not the bills or the long-term disability insurance I had to check in on for my wife, or whatever it was I was worried about before I began writing and decided to distract myself with a blog post.
Thanks for being here. I hope you love like Mom and Dad.