… you can say something mildly funny, and they will laugh like they’re in the front row of a Jim Gaffigan act.
The thing about parents is, each you time you call them, you’d think your voice was their lifeline by the arietta in their hello.
It’s a love I receive, but will not full circle understand until I experience it myself.
And if I am honest, it’s a type of love that scares me, the way many parents discard pride in the hopes of a small morsel of affection from their child. The way they put their scarred heart out there again and again. For years and years.
I see my parents several times a year, and am ached they are no more excused from aging than the next person. Why do they have to do that?
If I could alter space and time, I would make it so my Mom and Dad would wait for me to gain enough wisdom so we could all be great pals and golf together and then die at the same time. But if I could alter space and time, perhaps I’d make it so we wouldn’t have to die at all. That’s another topic.
This spring my Dad will enter his sixth decade in life, my Mom trailing behind a year, and together their third decade of marriage.
We’ll be celebrating those events with them, as they sure enjoy an escape to the country to see their daughter and the son-in-law they so adore. Even my dogs seem to recognize them, as evidenced by the way I no longer exist when they arrive.
I know those two will have plenty of food and trinkets in tow, because, well, that’s another thing about parents.