Monday, February 21, 2011

Sunday afternoon

Mom made lasagna for dinner.

Her way of asking us to come home without asking us to come home.

Meg got to the house after coaching her youth hockey team; I arrived after stopping in at work for a few hours.

It happened organically. No meddling, nothing that felt forced or like an obligation or for show. Meg was on one chair. I sat on another. We dozed on and off, blankets tucked around us.

The television was on - a hockey game - and there was a fire in the fireplace. It was toasty. Outside, the snow fell quietly and furiously.

My dad sat on the middle of the couch. My mom sat to his left. She, too, slept intermittantly. Dad was reading the newspaper. One of the dogs had climbed onto the couch at his opposite side. The other was sleeping at his feet.

I woke up - happy sleepy dazed - and looked around and all I wanted to do was to point out the situation.

Look at this. Look around you. Your wife and your girls and your dogs and a fire in a fireplace in your beautiful house and hockey playing on television and the leisure to spend your Sunday afternoon reading the newspaper. Was it worth it? Was it worth almost losing this?

I didn't say anything. I adjusted my blankets and I rested my head back on the arm of the chair and I went back to sleep.

It didn't need to be said.

4 comments:

my life is brilliant said...

What a long way all of this has come. So happy for your family and for you!

Anonymous said...

Your mother is a saint. Someone who I want to make me lasagna and have a conversation with while we eat it.

Thisisme said...

NOT that I would ever defend him or what he did- BUT. I do imagine/hope he thinks that every time he looks at you 3!!

Kari said...

Your mom is a saint and your dad was temporarily insane. I am guessing it wasn't worth it and he deeply regrets it.
On another note (yes, I should start a blog to put up these gems), in the staff room on the table of guilt (you know where everyone puts their kids fundraising cookies,etc), there was a tupperware catalog. On it it said that proceeds would go to the bride-elect, step daughter of person X.

 
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