Hands.

So last night I was standing in my mom and dad's room.  Dad was sitting on the chair talking to me about the Tigers win and getting ready for bed.  For some reason I felt the urge to take out my phone and get a picture of his hands.  Random.  Anyway I showed Drew the pictures this morning and she said "those hands done a lot of work."  HA! my little lady said that.  It was one of those times I might not forget what I felt like in that moment.  It was one of the smartest things I've heard her say and it left me with the sweetest feeling.  Yes, your papa has always been a hard worker.  Now it's our turn to work for him.  I've always liked pictures of people's hands.  They tell a story and oh if those hands could talk.

         

    

Home.

Dad went into the hospital last week.  He's home now, thank God.  But it seems like for the last two years, he's been visiting the hospital every few months.  It's been rough.  In this time, he has developed gout, he's an insulin dependent diabetic, and he has dementia.  Through all of this, I still consider our family very lucky.  He has manageable diseases (minus the dementia) that can be annoying, but not fatal if we stay on top of them.

With dementia patients, their minds and their focus get much smaller than ours.  They obsess and concentrate on very few things.  Dad's few things happen to be baseball (for the season lol), money, and thankfully, his family.  He loves being around his family as much as he can.  He keeps us laughing, and we've even started having family dinners on Sunday again.  As I get older, I realize there's nothing like family.  No matter what happens, it feels good to know each one of us always has somewhere to go.  We all have people.  So many people.  Thank God for that.  I have no idea what I would do without all my people.  This has been such an emotional experience.  But I have my people.

So dad's been home since Saturday.  He's a little down because his foot hurts ... don't know if it's the diabetic neuropathy or the gout, but either way, he's frustrated.  And yes he's a fighter, but I just got done harassing him to get him off his chair to walk around the house.  "You're a damn drill sargeant."  "Sorry dad .... but get up and walk ..... love you."  LOL and if looks could kill!  But he does it, it's ok if he's muttering profanity under his breath.  He's doing what I asked him to do.