It used to be, that when I slept on my parents sofa, it was because I was ill. It was a time when mom would grease my chest with Vicks and then put a warm towel on me. Sometimes I was there with a bowl on the floor beside me, in case I got sick. Even though I felt cared for while there, I'd often dream that I was floating towards the door or that someone was chasing me.
These are the things that I think about, when I lay on my parents sofa, yet again. This time because my Dad is ill and someone needs to be there to help him, 4-6 times during the night. As I lay awake, waiting to go back to sleep, till I am assured that he is sleeping again, I remember the good old days.
The days when my Dad was a healthy and full time working man, plus being a pastor. In spite of all that, he still found time to play with us. I was always very proud of my Dad.
It's really hard to see my Dad become weak, frail and discouraged. Right now yet, he has his good moments. However, there are more, not so good moments. It's all a part of his journey. Just like some runners, he is struggling with the last part of his race.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone Kathy Beachy
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