The House Gift

I wondered, “Does Dad know?”

It was one of those questions that come, seemingly, out of nowhere.  I wondered.   

That was a couple days ago.  Today, I stopped in to see him.  He was sitting, alone, in his wheelchair, eating Mini-Oreos.  I walked up behind him, sat down in the chair next to him and asked if he was going to share. 

As he looked up and saw me, he got a big smile on his face.  Ignoring the cookie request, he asked, “How’d you find me?” 

I said, “The word on the street is that you are here.”  I knew, as I said this I was using too complicated of word form.  He didn’t reply.  He didn’t understand.   

We tried the typical conversation starters that don’t work because they involve short term memory:  What did you do today?  What did you have for lunch?

He then circles back and asks for the third time, “How did you find me?”

He got down to his last Mini-Oreo.  He paused, looked at me, and, a bit surprisingly, offered me his last cookie.  It meant a lot. 

It was a beautiful fall day - bright sun, blue sky, autumn-colored trees.  I asked Dad if he wanted to go for a “walk” outside.  He said, “Yes.” 

We “walked“ the sidewalk as far as we could.  Dad’s wheelchair is not designed for touring.  We found a bench.  I pushed dad’s wheelchair up to it and sat on the bench next to him.

l remembered the question I had for him from a couple days ago. I asked if he knew about my plans.  He said, “No.”

So I told him.  I said, “About three years ago, over lunch, a good friend looked me in the eyes and told me that when I could no longer live on my own, they would like me to come and live with them.” 

Surprisingly, Dad not only understood, he knew what this meant.  With his voice cracking and tears forming, he said, “So I don’t need to worry about what happens to you when I pass?”

I put my arm around him and said, “No.  God’s taken care of it.”

He wanted to know how much this will cost. I told him their response to me when I asked them this question was, “When we invite someone into our home, we don’t charge them rent.” 

When asked how they can afford to do such, they have said, “We want to bless others with what God has blessed us.” 

He asked how long this would be for.  I told him,  “I’m welcome to stay until I die.” 

I realize we’re actually having a conversation, which means he is understanding – which is not always the case.  Seeing his response is oh so good.  I am thankful.

He asks what I did for this. I respond, “Absolutely nothing.  It’s a gift.”

He asks what he can do.  I say there’s nothing to do.

He asked if Mother knew.  I said, “Yes.  She’s very happy.”  He wondered why she had not told him.

I tell of how they are adding a guest house onto their home for me to live in.  There will be a kitchen, living area, bedroom and studio. It looks out over their pool with a pine forest beyond.   

He can’t believe I don’t have to DO something.  I reply, “It’s like God.  It’s grace.”

Dad’s voice keeps cracking.  He fights tears.  I give up.  I let them flow.

He asks what this place is called.

Pause.

Then I answer, “Home.”

He smiles a big smile.