Like walking in the rain and the snow and...

....standing in line for 4.5 hours inside the Borders on Liberty in Ann Arbor to have Dave Sedaris personally sign his latest book When You Are Engulfed In Flames.  It's to be a welcome-home gift for my daughter who adores his writing and will be returning from Paris after 4 months of studying abroad.  Wow is that hard on feet if not well-prepared!  I wasn't....

I only heard about Mr. Sedaris (I bet he hates being called Mr. Sedaris) after my daughter began quoting passages from his books to me.  I became intimately aware of his writings in Me Talk Pretty One Day just about a year ago as Sara and I alone together journeyed from Michigan to Pennsylvania, optimistically believing that we were visiting our recovering father/grandfather.  She read that book aloud as we traveled the eight hours, interspersed with radio if we could catch a good station, along with food and rest breaks.  We laughed out loud.  It was one of the most enjoyable road trips I have ever had, me, Sara,and Dave Sedaris.

Well, things weren't so rosy when we reached Pennsylvania.  My father was coming home after having been in the hospital since February, one catastrophe after another having befallen him.  When the attendants transported him from the ambulance to the waiting hospital bed in the first floor TV room where we had gathered every night of our youth to watch television together, my optimism failed me and I had to retreat to the kitchen to have a quick cry.  He was so frail.  I remember hearing my mother say, "You're home now."  It was all he had wanted for months, to be home, to be home with our mother.

When the attendants carried in a cardboard box, about one foot square, my mother asked what it was.  "His prescriptions."  That box provided a moment of comic relief for my mother, my sister, my daughter, and me, but it was no laughing matter.  The care would be extreme as the battle to return to health continued, even with visiting nurses and home health care aides arriving more than once per day.

My mother and sister are early-to-bed people and my daughter used the evenings to read or catch up with her friends online.  I'd sit with my father and watch TV, just as we had done so many years ago when I was his child, and later when visiting from Philadelphia, my own little children having been put to bed for the night.  There wasn't a lot of conversation at any of those times, just the comfort of knowing that few words needed to be spoken.  I'd get him a drink if he needed one, adjust the covers or the temperature, find a better show, and finally say goodnight.  I'd be up late, my mother was up early - my father spent just a few short hours alone but within earshot.

When I came to tell my father that Sara and I were leaving for home that last morning in Pennsylvania, his eyes had been closed but he turned to me and looked right into my eyes - a long and penetrating stare that I knew then meant we would not see each other again.  No words were spoken - we understood.

It was a less jolly ride back home to Michigan initially but we eased into it and picked up Dave Sedaris again.  We stopped at Barkeyville for dinner (fabulous diner!) and laughed about that name for about an hour.  The mood escalated as the return road trip progressed.  Going back home and coming home was a relief.  Duty had been fulfilled; honor had been paid.  

My father returned to the hospital via the emergency room about two weeks later and was diagnosed as suffering from end-stage Parkinsons disease.  The ER doctor was visibly shaken, wondering how the diagnosis had never been made in all the years he had suffered.  My father died in September, 2007.

Time heals all wounds and the family has adjusted.  My sister and her husband relocated from Arizona to Pennsylvania, bought our family home to be caretakers of it and companions to our mother.  The garden is in glorious and robust bloom, my sister recently reported, the poppies as tall as our mother.  Last year's summer of sorrow is replaced by this year's summer of abundance and beauty.

Sara will be coming home one week from Sunday, having completed her study abroad.  I'll be picking her up at the airport and when we arrive at home, there will be stories to tell and gifts to exhange.  She has already mentioned silk scarves and ties so I know I am looking forward to that, and my son is a sucker for a pretty tie.  I'll give her the book, with the inscription, "To Sara, We're so glad you're back.  Dave Sedaris" - maybe she'll read to us aloud.