There are times when my dad throws up his hands in exasperation to whatever my problem is and exclaims, "What do you want me to do about it?" And there are times when he knows exactly what to do about it. When I don't even have to call out to him for help. When I'm navigating a winding South-Western Pennsylvanian road in the driving rain and he's there with all the right words and silences, knowing when to listen and when to talk. And his words are so cooling that the heated anger in my heart begins to dispel and I can once again, if only briefly, see the truth in what he's saying.
God wants me in Pittsburgh for a reason. I'm starting to think that the only reason is to be closer to Buffalo and have this precious, priceless time with her. To, as my dad told me last night, be her Simon and help her carry her cross to Golgotha. To somehow share the burdon with her, if only by cleaning her front windows and washing her floors, doing the dishes and sitting quietly stroking her hand while she sleeps. If only by sitting silent and listening to her life story and promising to remember after she has gone.
My dad told me last night that this is my legacy. This is the time for me to comfort her and support her...and when she is gone, I will remember this time and know how blessed I was to have it. And I will tell my children her story and the story of my life with her and tell them to remember. Remember long after she has gone. Long after I have gone.
I will remember.