Tick Tock, Around the Clock

This week was tough.  Both girls had double ear infections.  Benny one-upped her sister by also having bronchitis.  Jeremy made it through the past five days by hacking, fevering and sounding like a manish Joan Rivers. This was Monday-Wednesday.

Pre-Thursday:  Jeremy summoned me to come into our back room.  My initial thought was that he was feeling better (and a tad randy) and wanted to sneak a kiss.  Upon stepping through the folding doors, I see that the room is steadily filling with water.  The add-on room was flooding.  Shit, shit, shit.  Come game time, fortunately, he and I make a pretty decent team. 

We kid that we would make a great pairing for The Amazing Race.  Due to both of our non-competitive natures, we would likely not, what’s that word (?), win.  We would have a blast losing-big-time and likely make some life-long friends in random, non-descript huts around the world.  I digress.

We put all damageable items up high, rolled up the rug and pulled out towels.  I was grateful for our towel-hoarding-tendencies.  Water levies were quickly created.  Overall, we lucked out.  Luckily, we have tile.  Luckily, Mama and Daddy Palafox gave us a wet-vac last winter.  Luckily, we no longer honor the sanctity of nightly slumber.  So, I opened up the vacuum box, assembled the thing MacGyver-style in, like, 13 minutes, and started sucking up the water.  I took the early shift.  Jeremy took the crappy shift (it involved earthworms and slugs), and I was grateful to sleep (although there were four-year-old feet in my neck) until Thursday morn.

Thursday:  Even with everything that happened the early part of this week, the 5^th day threw the biggest punch.  You see, Dad moved in with us in August.  The only house my parents owned was finally sold, and a courier from the title company was coming to complete paperwork.  I was not excited about the closing.  Number crunching, to me, is on the same level as having food envy at a restaurant (e.g., regretting your order and drooling on your husband’s New York Strip).  To me, this is death.  Dad, on the other hand, had pages and pages of calculations completed to ensure the buyers would not swindle him out of funds.  These kinds of (paranoid) tasks are his modus operandi.  I felt anxious, and I was tired.  All went okay until I found the wrong date of Mom’s death.  Ugh.  Of all the things that needed to be changed, this had to be the thing.  Ironic, eh?  So, the woman told dad that he needed to cross out the wrong date (12.26.2006), write the correct date (12-23-2004) and initial. 

I interpreted for him. He crossed out the incorrect date, started to write “December” and stopped. “It’s the 23rd, Dad.” I said. He looked at me. “Dad, it’s the 23rd!” “No,” he replied and started to reach for the death certificate. At this point, I was impatiently confused. Did he really not remember? Was it too much for him to write the damn (I mean, really, damn that day) date? I interrupted his reach for the document. “Ma mất ngày 23 tháng 12. She died on the 23rd of December, Dad. Write it.” I sounded like a demanding child, and I was. He did what I said, and we got everything wrapped-up in 20 minutes.

On the way to work, I cried.  When I got to work, I was still crying.  I hid in a conference room to get my stuff done without having to engage and to let my eyes de-puff.  Part of me cannot pinpoint why this is so hard. I should be getting better at this stuff.  Another part of me is all-too-aware of everything.  At times, it’s just too much.  Mom’s not here.  Dad is here.  The girls are here.  And now, Dad is really here. 

That evening, I picked up the girls from school, and we headed home. “What is Popeye making us for dinner?” Bennet asked. “What Popeye making, Mama?” Ruby said, always repeating. As I lugged all of the stuff into the house, Ruby was already running ahead and yelling, “Hi, Popeye! Hi, Popeye!”. He is always in the kitchen. I must say my days have changed drastically since Dad moved in. Each day, Monday through Friday, dinner is waiting for us on the table. This is the ultimate gift. He is here with us. With me. The girls are beyond-excited to see him each evening, and he is able to enjoy their continual antics. I see joy in his eyes. This is something he missed out on with my brother, sister and I. Working two full-time jobs can surely dampen your daily engagement with your children. 

As we sat there around the dinner table eating, music started playing from Dad’s room. “Dad, the clock is going off,” I informed him. For the second time that day, he looked at me with a blank stare. “Dad, mom’s clock is playing.” 
 
Years ago, during the last trip Mom and I took to California to visit her family, she got a clock. Two things about Mom: She was always prepared and always on time (usually half an hour early).  This clock, on every hour, would play a tune, and she loved it.  After mom passed away, it stopped working. It still hung on the wall by the kitchen in Mom and Dad’s house. Coincidentally, when I would go home to visit Dad with Jeremy (and eventually the girls) in Wylie, it would randomly play. We always felt it was not coicidence.  When Dad moved in with us, it was the first box we opened, and the clock was hung in his new room. Jeremy replaced the batteries for kicks, and the clock stood still as it usually does -- Until this early evening, almost six weeks after being placed on the wall, it decided to make its presence known. It was an emotional day for me. It was a big day for Dad. He let go of the home he last shared with his wife. For the first time since he moved in, Dad and I had the same thought. Mom, in typical fashion, was perfect on timing and wanted to be a part of our big Thursday. We were surely grateful for the moment.  And, I am glad he is with us.