From Lee’s Summit

As one expects, today has been filled with some laughter, some tears, some quiet time holding my father’s hand.

As I write on Thursday evening, Pop is still hanging on, and still knew me when I said “good night.”  His “Hi, son” when I arrived midday was a delight to hear.

And after working for several hours in his [very] dusty office, and displacing said dust repeatedly, I have a cough.  Some Tullamore Dew is in the cup to fight said cough.

My eldest niece Kristen is a saint.  She’s an RN, and she has been the caregiver d’extraordinaire these last two days.  She’s also run interference and explanation with the professionals from hospice, about whom I cannot say enough good as well.

We dined tonight, my sisters and niece and step-sister and step-mother, at the dining room table, with me now at the head, on a roasted chicken, some new potatoes, green beans, and yummy strawberry cupcakes.  This was the first square meal I’d had in a few days, and I think we all needed it.  Part of my mission the next few days is to cook at least one meal a day.

As I commenced Operation OfficeKP today, I found a few bonbons that I’ll share:  my father’s National Guard photo from 1959, a clipping that was inexplicably attached to this same photo, and a handwritten verse of scripture in his meticulous penmanship.

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