Picture if you will, sitting by the bedside of your father, who is propped up in bed, eyes closed, the soothing hum of a small fan running at the foot of the bed. A hundred and one birthdays my father has observed. I wonder if any one of those stand out in his mind and bring a peaceful recollection of a particular event that brings vivid images in his mind. Surely he remembers birthdays with mom with whom he was a life partner for seventy seven years.
I helped him while he ate a cupful of strawberry icecream. He does love icecream. He's sleeping peacefully now, in his own world.
I wonder if he ever thinks about all those tough years in Missouri, trying desperately to eke out a living on our tiny farm and wondered how he would keep mom happy and feed us children.
Does he think about the hard times in California working on the carpenter crew, being gone all week, leaving mom alone, pretty much to fend for herself.
He's had a lot to think about through his life, but I wonder, does he worry about yesterday.
