S’mores

My two brothers and I, with our children, have all descended on the Florida town where my parents are renting an apartment for the winter.  My mother’s desire to take my father, who at 90 years of age, is wheelchair bound, out of the apartment for meals, movies, and tonight for s’mores, knows no bounds. 

After an early dinner at a restaurant with my parents, my five year old niece had invited us back to their hotel, which had a gas fire pit, for s’mores.  I thought it was too much for my father and encouraged my mother to get him home and to bed.  She was adamant that he was up for joining us.

Sitting around the fire pit as we roasted marshmallows, wedged them between two gram cracker cookies with chunk of chocolate, was great fun.  My father just sat their in his wheelchair silently, but with a big smile on his face.  Even though he said little throughout the evening, he looked happy and was enjoying being with three of his children and his grandchildren.  

My mother was right. It is good to keep pushing my dad and get him out in the world as much as possible. Even thought he is fading from this world, the world still brings him some pleasure. He can barely communicate anymore, says no more than a word or two, but seems to enjoy going out and being with family.  It is not clear to me what he sees or understands, but he does know all of us by name and recognizes us every time he sees us.  Even with my new beard, grown right before this trip, dad knew me.

This is probably the last time we will all be together like this with my father alive.  It was a fun and enjoyable evening.  

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s