“I’d be running the 440…”

This afternoon, I drive across the county to visit with my Dad. He’s in a lot of pain; on some heavy-duty pain meds, so it’s hard to have a conversation on the telephone…not to mention that he’s prone to using the receiver upside down while complaining that he can’t hear me.

His mind is slippery–time frames slide, telescope and collapse. He talks about the War; he thinks I’m his wife; he wonders if my mother has a cemetery stone and where he will be buried and then says with a grin, “I’m not going to die…not this week.” He keeps coming back to what day it is…I tell him it’s Sunday; it’s the 8th of July. He says, “Oh, the year is half over already and I haven’t made any progress.” I ask him what progress would look like. First he says, “Well, I’d be running the 440…” Then he adds, “I’d wake up and see my wife and my mother. They were a great influence on me…very positive.”

He’s completely cogent while eating the Chipwich I give him..”Oh, this is the best ice cream I’ve ever had! What is it?” I explain that it is two chocolate chip cookies with soft vanilla ice cream…Ice cream–the healing balm. The premier pain killer.

On the way home, I drive my favorite road in Orange County–The Sarah Wells Trail. The corn is knee high, the tractors sit idle in the fresh mown fields. I think about Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I am my father’s daughter.