Dad’s been in the hospital for a week now, and even though he wants me to wait, something inside me yesterday said, just go now. As the plane descends into the plains of my native region (Nebraska born, but KC, MO is close enough culturally juxtaposed to WeHo) I’m feeling more happy to go “home” than I have in decades.
This serious illness has brought into vivid clarity how much I love and appreciate the man who raised me. For two years I was one of his two boys as he did the work of a devoted and loving single dad. Not once during my 51 years of life has he ever cited his efforts and sacrifice. Not even when I was railing him with lists of reasons I’d judged him a failure as a parent.
We were both lucky to live long enough to grow and let go of what separates and focus on what brings us together. Love.
Now my sister will pick me up at the gate (almost nearly, it is the KC airport) and we will revel in our father’s goodness and scheme on how to keep him healthy so that he’s here with for as long as possible.