Kinder Times with Poppa

I arrived home last night from driving George for about an hour and called my parent's house.

"Come over and get your medications," My father says after answering.

I walk over with my flashlight lighting the way. The back door is open and I take a seat in the den as my father hands me the handful of pills and vitamins I must take every night. He made sure I took them and then sat in the chair next to me as his cat, Macy, jumped into his lap purring furiously.

"How was your day, son?"

"I had a good day, today," I reply.

"What did you write about on your journal?"

"Oh, I wrote about Rosa eating supper with me and then asking me how Cain from the Bible managed to get a wife."

My father laughed.

"Your grandfather used to ask your grandmother that all the time and it would piss her off," Dad says.

"I wish I could have known him," I reply, solemnly.

"He would have taken you fishing and hunting all the time," Dad tells me. "You would be two peas in a pod."

My mother walks into the room and sits on the sofa. She is wearing her nightgown and starts to ask my father questions interrupting our conversation.

"Not tonight," my father says, stopping her. "I've worked all day and had a hundred thousand questions for ten hours straight."

My mother doesn't protest and just sits quietly and listens.

"What did you cook for supper?" Dad then asks me.

"I fixed some grilled cheese sandwiches and some minestrone soup by a recipe I got off the internet. It was delicious."

"You always were the best of cooks," Dad says. "I want you to bake your signature lasagna one night for me."

"I would love too," I reply. "It would bring me joy."

My medications were kicking in causing my eyelids to feel as if they were made of lead. It was time for me to head home and go to sleep and curl up with Maggie.

"Love you," Dad says as I get up from my chair. He reaches out for my hand.

"Love you, too," I say as I clasp it and then leave to walk on home.

I know some of my recent posts have been disparaging about my father, but he is a good man who loves me deeply. No other person has stood by me through all I have gone through with my illness and homelessness. If it wasn't for him, I would probably be some mentally ill drunken street person talking to himself on some derelict street corner in an inner city. I love you Poppa.