Preparations are made. A realization that not everything I envisioned being done would be. Let it go.
Arrive early at the airport (the flight got in at 10:12 - which was also early). Habit takes us to departures instead of arrivals, but we park and get in with plenty of time. Abe and I take a spot close to Terminal 2 and line up with other expectants where most people are coming through to baggage claim.
Several individuals wearing Tampa sports team jerseys go by. We wait. Still, we wait. I text, unsure, only to find moments later that they've taken a different route and are waiting, with bags, at baggage claim a few steps to our left.
My Dad is in a wheelchair. I can see in his face his concern about my reaction. He wants to get out, but the individual with them has offered to take us all the way to the car and that is what Robbie wants. Several times on the way to the car his foot slips off. Robbie takes it as him not understanding or not obeying, but I can see it's just him wanting to get out of the chair. He has always been very physically affectionate and animated. I'm sure it feels unnatural for him to greet his daughter seated.
We get to the car and it is difficult to get in. He is tall and the car is low to the ground. Robbie has to squeeze in the back, but we make it work.
After a drive (in which Robbie complains to me in the back seat about how difficult he's been - well within his earshot) and jokes that he has selective listening (he doesn't hear her when she asks him to do things, but can hear me fine, etc), we arrive home.
He notes the rose bushes and is incredulous when I tell him they're mine and I've been tending them.
The veggie plate, cheese & crackers come out. Arizona Mango. We snack in the kitchen and talk. Robbie brings up how she thinks we need to tell his family about his condition and he tunes out. It's too serious and she's being pushy. Sort of like "Mommy knows best." At some point, Robbie tells me he "doesn't understand anything anymore." In the short space of our time together it is already apparent to me how untrue this statement is, how insensitive, and unfair. This upsets me, but I try not to contradict her. I have to keep the peace.
We move into the living room and talk for longer, then realize it's getting late. We're back in the kitchen, Robbie asks what time it is: 12:30 am our time, 3:30 am theirs. He says, "That must be why I feel so funny." Some jokes around this. It was a light moment, and one I could relate to - that trippy feeling of being jet-lagged and underfed at the same time.
Dad lets a few farts out accidentally. I wouldn't mention it, except that I noticed this accidental habit stopped happening by the following afternoon (there were a few in the morning) and never returned. I also remember his mother and the joke he made (she probably can't hear it!) when we visited shortly before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She had been showing us around the garden.
They settle in eventually. We go to bed.
Arrive early at the airport (the flight got in at 10:12 - which was also early). Habit takes us to departures instead of arrivals, but we park and get in with plenty of time. Abe and I take a spot close to Terminal 2 and line up with other expectants where most people are coming through to baggage claim.
Several individuals wearing Tampa sports team jerseys go by. We wait. Still, we wait. I text, unsure, only to find moments later that they've taken a different route and are waiting, with bags, at baggage claim a few steps to our left.
My Dad is in a wheelchair. I can see in his face his concern about my reaction. He wants to get out, but the individual with them has offered to take us all the way to the car and that is what Robbie wants. Several times on the way to the car his foot slips off. Robbie takes it as him not understanding or not obeying, but I can see it's just him wanting to get out of the chair. He has always been very physically affectionate and animated. I'm sure it feels unnatural for him to greet his daughter seated.
We get to the car and it is difficult to get in. He is tall and the car is low to the ground. Robbie has to squeeze in the back, but we make it work.
After a drive (in which Robbie complains to me in the back seat about how difficult he's been - well within his earshot) and jokes that he has selective listening (he doesn't hear her when she asks him to do things, but can hear me fine, etc), we arrive home.
He notes the rose bushes and is incredulous when I tell him they're mine and I've been tending them.
The veggie plate, cheese & crackers come out. Arizona Mango. We snack in the kitchen and talk. Robbie brings up how she thinks we need to tell his family about his condition and he tunes out. It's too serious and she's being pushy. Sort of like "Mommy knows best." At some point, Robbie tells me he "doesn't understand anything anymore." In the short space of our time together it is already apparent to me how untrue this statement is, how insensitive, and unfair. This upsets me, but I try not to contradict her. I have to keep the peace.
We move into the living room and talk for longer, then realize it's getting late. We're back in the kitchen, Robbie asks what time it is: 12:30 am our time, 3:30 am theirs. He says, "That must be why I feel so funny." Some jokes around this. It was a light moment, and one I could relate to - that trippy feeling of being jet-lagged and underfed at the same time.
Dad lets a few farts out accidentally. I wouldn't mention it, except that I noticed this accidental habit stopped happening by the following afternoon (there were a few in the morning) and never returned. I also remember his mother and the joke he made (she probably can't hear it!) when we visited shortly before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She had been showing us around the garden.
They settle in eventually. We go to bed.
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