It's a Time for Gratitude

I have been immersed, albeit at a distance, with my father's impending death. I have my cell phone within my wingspan constantly and it's always on. I speak with my mom and sisters every day and I hear the weariness and sadness in their voices. They are watching, waiting, standing vigil and they are witnessing Dad vanish from them in slow measures.

I have told Dad what I needed to tell him and am simply waiting for God to call him home. Through my siblings' blogs, I'm seeing them process the same event from their very unique positions. I have been doing "normal" stuff, but I am sometimes sad or preoccupied. The duties of motherhood keep me busy enough to not wallow too deeply into the pit of despair. I have a choice: gratitude or woe. I choose gratitude.

My father, on a lark, went to a bar one night where he met my mother. She stayed and talked with him. He extracted her last name and a few details about her in their first conversation. When Mom left that night, she had completely missed her bowling banquet, but had completely bowled over my dad. He nudged his friend as he watched her walk out and confided: "I'm gonna' marry that girl." The next day, he methodically called all the Schneiders in the local phone book. On the third try, he got Mom's uncle, who saved Dad a few more calls. They were engaged and married within about a year.

He did. She did. They did. For 50 years.

I'm so glad.