Maybe it's the 3rd day of rain that is making my heart just a little sad this morning, or the creak of the floor overhead as my Dad gets his few belongings together to head back to Clinton today, the image of him, just a little stooped over, gathering up what still belongs to him. Making sure the photos I printed and framed for him are going with him "I'll bring them back when I come"; "they are yours, Daddy".
85 years old, he grows weary and weak. He's not the strong able man I knew growing up. How proud I was of him, and still am. Mr. Sanders, the floor sander and builder of beautiful homes. "My Dad built that house". He would drive his Wheel Horse with the snow blower attachment and a cab with doors on it down to the frozen bog and clear it so we could skate for hours on end. The neighbor kids loved my Dad too and called him "Uncle Don". Years later, they still do.
I hear him come down the stairs with a little "phew" when he reaches the bottom. Carrying his bible bag and shaving kit and the sheets off his bed he walks into kitchen with a little grin on his face. "Throw the sheets down the stairs" I say. He throws them down then he stops and asks, "what is that hymn, Cleanse me oh lamb of God, I can't find those words to look it up .. that's a good one" and he sings a verse of it to me. Of course I know it, but can't find it so I send Brad a text and he responds with "WASH" (not cleanse) #8, no #17. #8 was the old book. Yes that's it, and I get my hymn book and sing a couple verses. This happens nearly every morning.
He pours Total into the bowl I have ready for him, crunching it down "so the pieces aren't so big". I asked him once if he needed a bigger bowl so they'd fit and he said no, he just liked them crunched down. A bite of banana in between bites of Total, sometimes he'll tell me how he's eaten this for years and then tells me he has Burger King for lunch "A Junior Whopper with Cheese and a Sprite, it costs me $2.98, then I have a peanut butter and fluff sandwich at night"
Now, as he sits there munching, he tells me again about his cousin, Teddy, and Aunt Rita, known as "Aunt Tootie" by us kids because that's what Mammie called her. She called Mammie (Francis) "Kittie". Brad almost fell off his chair the first time he heard me say her name. Well, maybe it was the way in which I said it "Aunt TOOTIE DIED?!" She laughed a lot, like Mammie did, especially when they were together. I'm thankful my Dad got those genes and had Mammie for a mother, the lady I was named after. Francis Kelley. As Mama would tell it, she was going to name me Francis and Mammie said "don't you dare, if you have to name her after me use my maiden name" (another thing I'm thankful for!) I don't know .. would I have turned out differently if everyone called me Francis?
He's all packed and ready to go but has an hour to kill. He wants to leave his sprite and his oatmeal cream pies with us, but I assure him we don't drink Sprite and if he leaves the cookies I will eat them all in two days. He heads into the living room for the "big chair" and I will close now so I can play a few tunes for him on the piano.
It helps, you know, my heart isn't near as heavy. I will have to do this more often. Yes, Dad is thankful for his good memories and so am I.
