While my father was resting at the skilled living center as his feeding tube gradually, gently allowed nutrients back into his dehydrated body, my gentleman friend and I went on errands for supplies. I was grateful to have his hand to hold. . . My body buzzing with anxiety – my mind fuzzy with a horrific sence of urgency – my vision blurry as if someone rubbed vaseline petroleum jelly around the edges of my glasses. . . Clearly it was a good thing I was the passenger and not the driver.
As we drove down the empty road and the sky was jam packed with fluffy Arizona clouds, the GPS seemed to be confusing our sence of direction as we did our best to navigate around Tucson so I could get a couple items for Dad.
“. . . Point 5 miles U-turn . . .” the automated female robot voice said.
Following directions – we did a U-turn.
” . . . Point 5 miles U-turn . . .” the GPS said to us once more.
“What?! Seriously?! Stop it!” Clearly the the gosh darn GPS was more turned around than we were.
“Turn that thing off!” We said in unison like Bose stereo speakers.
Instantaneously we burst into laughter! Beautiful, beautiful laughter. My gawd it felt good – a moment in a day where my tears were endless and my heart was broken due to my fear of the unknown with my Dad’s health status. Our sweet and sudden laughter created a tiny crack in my overwhelming fear and my hope rushed in – as if the laughter had broken a dam of despair.
My father’s strong spirit is inside of his frail body. And with his whisper of a shredded voice, he softly stated, as if it was a typical Sunday afternoon, “I want to play golf again.”
My father is working with all his might every moment to regain his health. So the least I can do is remain hopeful and carry my faith with all my might. Together we can do this. My family is small – but we are mighty.