Bleak and Beautiful

My Dad and I were sitting side by side, hand in hand yesterday in the hospital. I had just shared some fairly devastating news with him and so we were both just plain crying our eyes out. The pain in that hospital room was palpable by every person present, but mostly it was a tightly woven cord bound around me and my dad. We've become so close through this suffering..

I couldn't let pain fester, though. I knew we must press on, so I offered comfort in the form of truth.

Dad, I said, This life is very hard sometimes, but there is always beauty and goodness to be found even in those times. And there are always good things to come.

That's what I repeat to myself again and again. And then I look around for the beauty and have always been able to find it.

I Wrote This in November

When Auby and I go over to help my parents' out, she goes straight to her beloved grandpa's room, where she finds him propped up in bed and she welcomes herself to hop right on. She sometimes crawls across his lap, splashing love across his cheek and chest as she slides to his left side and makes herself comfortable. Other times, she walks past the bed, pulls with her hands, climbs with her legs, and grits with her teeth. Once she has made it onto the mattress, a full body length away from my dad, she will bounce across the vacancy to her grandpa's side and exclaim some cheerful greeting to him, then proceed to find her place in the nest. Then she does something with him. She'll show him her toys, load his lap with stuffed animals, decorate him with colorful stickers. Sometimes she takes one of our phones in hand and photographs all sorts of odd angles of the room and her grandpa. Other times, he will turn on a show for both of them to enjoy… like Doc Mcstuffins or Jake and the Neverland Pirates.

Sometimes, if I'm helping out in another room, I begin to worry about what the girl might be doing to or with her grandpa and I'm called to confirm that everything is well and everyone is safe.

I was doing some work in the kitchen today. Auburn was in her spot next to Grandpa, but I hadn't been in to check on them for a long stretch of time and began to feel the pull of unease. I made my way to the doorway where I stood to observe. And this is what greeted me:

My dad was propped up in his usual spot and Auburn was next to him on the bed. The sound of boisterous orchestral music filled the room, streaming from my dad's phone in his lap. Auburn was standing, dancing, arms and legs flailing wildly to the beat. Her entire body was snapping back and forth, spine and head bending in opposites directions. And my dad's arms were extended above his head, waving back and forth as his hands conducted the music. They were a happy sight and one I hope to always remember.