It's taking a turn ...

It's taking a turn.  I could say for the worse, but let's just say it's taking a turn.  For about the last month, dad's been having a hard time forming words.  We can all see him thinking ... and thinking ... and it doesn't come.  He's so frustrated and so sad.  He said to me yesterday, "I hope this doesn't get worse."  And his eyes filled with tears.  It was only Drew and I sitting alone with him at the table.  I looked at Drew and she could see papa's sadness.  She sees what he's thinking often.  She said, as she rubbed his back, "Papa, don't give up talking.  Think slowly, papa."

In the last couple of days, two of my friends have suddenly lost their fathers and their fathers were young.  It reminds me how lucky we are, but I rarely forget that.

It's funny, I pulled out some old family videos the other day and realized how much pops has changed.  I can't remember the last time I was able to have a meaningful conversation with him besides the ones I have with just his eyes.  I miss him.  A lot.  I really didn't realize how much I miss him until I saw those videos.  That right there is one amazing man.

So here comes the holiday season.  Dad loves the holidays; everything about them.  I remember when I was young, we used to go to any store that sold anything Christmas and he would just about buy out the whole place.  We had trains, figurines, dancing Santas, snow globes, and about 15 stockings on our rock fireplace.  Every Christmas morning mom would have her "list."  It was a numbered list of the Christmas gifts they (Santa) bought for us so we couldn't snoop!  Those were the best and I'm so grateful they're all on tape ... though we made fun of mom for walking around filming our every move, I'm so glad she did.  Every single family member was there .. before any conflict ... before any arguments or turmoil.  Together.  Every single one of us.

I always tell my mom that I had the best childhood and thank her for it.  I knew from the time I can remember that not only did my mom and dad love me more than anything, but so did my brothers and sisters.  It was the most fierce sense of security.  I can't even explain it.  I would often just lay in my bed at night, siblings in their rooms, parents down the hall, and think to myself "thank God this will always be like this."

Isn't that the way kids think?  They haven't learned yet that there are no guarantees in life.  I'm so thankful for that.  I'm so thankful that Drew thinks that way right now.  When you finally figure that out, it can be pretty painful.  Terribly painful, actually.  Life changes.

And really what choice do I have except to accept?  It's all up to me how I play these cards.  For sure.  It's really easy for me to get into a dark place remembering what was and missing that assurance that "this" would always be.   The best memories of my life are when I lived on Parklane in Livonia.  At the center of all of our worlds was a young, vibrant mom who was more loving than anyone I had ever met.  And a dad who was stronger than any other man.

My wish for Drew.  That I can give her this security, this childhood, these memories, and the will to play her cards.

And this to my mom and dad, just thank you, as always.  Thank you for giving me that security.  Thank you for being at every play, every boring Catholic school singing program, every basketball game, every figure skating lesson, every tennis match, every riding lesson ... it just goes on and on.

And this to Drew, I promise that one day you will be sitting on your couch thinking of your wonderful childhood.  I promise you will feel like your papa has been here all of your life, and I promise that you will smile thinking of the infinite love you have had.

We're only here for a short time, kid.  We're gonna make it good.