Thursday, May 3, 2012

The Vist

                                         PHOTO: The folks

LuLu is tucked away in the garage and Gary and I are on the road and on our way to the Parent Pass-Off. My folks live in Memphis. We live in Wisconsin. We’re meeting my brother, who has my parents, half way to do the Parent Pass-Off. My folks will be with us a month.
This visit almost didn’t happen. We were suppose to meet them on Monday, but at about 4 a.m. on Monday we got a call that dad was rushed to the hospital. A virus was wreaking havoc with his innards it seems. But Tuesday night he came home from the hospital perky and ready for the trip. So today’s the day.
I’m excited. On the inside, I’m still a little girl wanting to be with her mommy and daddy. I’m one of the fortunate who still has her parents. At age 61, that’s pretty special, I think. Use to when my folks would visit, mom would roll up her sleeves and clean my oven (I’d save it for her) and cook special meals for us, especially for Gary. I wasn’t quite the southern cook my mother was, so when she’d visit Gary got his fill of corn bread and beans and other southern staples like real fried chicken and real gravy. And for me, she’d make her famous lemon meringue pie and let me lick the pan. What a treat.
She still cooks some on her visits, but at age 85 I don’t think I’ll have her cleaning my oven. It’s a self-cleaning one these days anyway. I’m content just to have her with me, to bask in the fact that she and my dad are two of the very few who love me unconditionally, who long to just be near me just because I’m their baby girl.
Parents are special. But as they age, they become more so. The roles change somewhat, but they’re still my momma and pops. Mom will fuss about my weight and dad, even in his Alzheimer haze, will try to take care of me by turning off the lights every time I leave a room.
I am blessed.

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