Short Stories - non fiction

Parents are a gift

It’s Sunday morning and that means that either Bruce or I will drive over to the local church and pick up my 92 year old father. He still goes to mass every week. We will pull up, and he will be standing there waiting for us, he will be wearing his Sunday best. He brings a walking cane and wears a cap. He really is a very cute man.

Dad usually takes the city bus over to mass, it is only a five minute ride, and the bus goes directly from in front of his building to the front of the church. People who take the bus look out for him, and usually the bus driver does as well. He has a magnetic personality, everywhere he goes people love him.

The arrangement is that we pick him up after the service. When he gets in the car, he always seems relieved that we didn’t forget to pick him up. We have never forgotten him, but I am sure that he worries until he sees the car pull up.

From the minute he gets into the car, until the minute he gets out, he will chat. He is a very happy man, always smiling and laughing. The guy may be the happiest man on earth. This is how he always is, he is just happy. His happiness is contagious, it is hard not to love him.

Dad has devoted his life to my mother. He has become her personal butler. Mom is 2 years older, and her health is not as robust as Dad’s. He literally waits on her hand and foot. If you ask him about it, he will say that Mom is his purpose in life. He is there to look after Loreen, the woman he fell in love with and married back in 1950.  

Writing this brings tears to my eyes. It is not lost on me that I am fortunate to have both of my parents alive, and both of them are still with it mentally. It is indeed a gift. 


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