gifts...

I had a Saturday morning visit with my dad this weekend, celebrating his birthday. It was a short visit, as we were on the way to my son's basketball tournament, but it was a good visit. Having severe dimentia, there probably isn't anything from Saturday that my dad will remember. But for myself, and for my sister, those visits are such gifts. We joked, brought him a gift, had the other residents sing Happy Birthday. In the mornings, he is so much better. So alert, and relaxed. I very rarely get to see him at that time of day. Most visits are at night, when he's tired, and less tolerable. Saturday morning was amazing. I was sad to go. I wanted to chat, to play cribbage, and to look at old pictures. But I'll save that for another Saturday.

Unless you know the history with my dad, you don't understand how that type of a visit is a gift. My entire childhood and life until I was 28, he was an alcoholic, and we had no relationship. We didn't speak. We didn't hug. After his stroke, he dried out, and over the last ten years, we've bonded. We've gotten to know each other. While he has dimentia, that doesn't matter. We talk, play cards, and remember. He tells stories of the olden days. I recount what's going on in our busy lives.

So those Saturdays are gifts. Gifts with a value so high they can't be bought. Gifts I cherish, and thank God for.