It’s interesting to watch your parents get old. I imagine my kids feel the same way.
One of my “second” moms growing up died recently. It broke my heart. Doesn’t seem like so long ago when we were vacationing together at Litchfield beach – playing cards, sitting by the pool, eating dinner at that humongous picnic table.
One year when in my teens, we were playing a huge game of Spoons. It is a card game where you work to get four of a kind. There are one fewer spoons scattered on the table than there are players. The first person getting all four of one card quietly grabs a spoon and then, anyone can snatch one. The player left without a spoon is the loser.
On this particular day I was rushed out of the bathroom and threw on a robe – just a robe – don’t ask me why. Being relatively competitive, I jumped across the table to grab the only utensil left. My robe flew above my waist exposing all of what should have been private to my mom, my friends and my mom’s friends. Yes, I inadvertently showed my mother’s friends my business in order to win a card game.
Sweet moment – well sort of – gone by.
When do your parents stop caring for you and you start caring for them?
I’m not there yet with my folks, but when their friends get down, it makes me think.
My dad’s heart is now a stent farm. My mom is well save her hip issues, massive allergies, swallowing problems, her teeny bladder – hmmm, maybe she isn’t well.
As much as they’ve done for me, the payback should be tremendous.
But, if I know them, there will be a limit to what they’ll allow my brother and me to do.
Whatever their issues, I’m game. Yeah, I guess it is a responsibility and a duty to help, but that’s not why I’ll be there. I’ll be there because I love them. I’ll be there because they’ve been there for me.
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