Life and time seem suspended in an indescribable space.
If I had to name it, I'd call it Grace.
Finding activities to occupy my parents' time in a rehab facility (Dad0
and Memory Unit (Mother) finds me coloring pictures, walking in the sunshine hand-in-hand,
watching the birds in the aviary, playing a game of Uno, teaching Dad to play Solitare,
or cutting expired coupons with Mother.
My father made his first batch of brownies in Occupational Therapy
and took them later to share with my mother.
They met in the hallway. It was as though they were getting reacquainted with each other.
In a way, they were.
One day, my son came to visit his grandparents. In the photo below,
my father is explaining to Mother who her grandson is.
In another meeting, Dad showed Mother some of the many, many cards he has
been receiving since his open heart surgery.
And every day, whether traveling back and forth, sitting quietly in a room
while a parent naps, sitting next to Mother trying to get her to eat,
or watching my father courageously tackle his therapies,
I am suspended in a space I call Grace.
It feels SO natural. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing right now.
|Watching birds in the aviary...|