It had been a long few days for some reason.
Today I was excessively tired. Perhaps a combination of sleep deprivation, lack of exercise, allergies, lousy eating habits, classic caregiver side effects. Just not quite feeling up to snuff. So tonight I looked forward to crawling back into my bed, where I’d sort of been stationed off and on all day anyway when I wasn’t attending to Dad. After I got him all settled in, started the dishwasher and another load of laundry, put the garbage cans out on the street for the weekly pick up and trudged back up the stairs to my bedroom I heard singing. Not just any random singing, but a beautiful, on pitch, in tune, a capella, male voice, youthful and enthusiastic for 101 years old, coming through the baby monitor that I use to listen for my dad. And this is what i heard:
There’s a long, long trail a-winding into the land of my dreams
Where the nightingales are singing and a white moon beams.
There’s a long, long night of waiting, until my dreams all come true
Till the day when i’ll be going down that long, long trail with you.
Thirty-five years older than me, dependent on a wheelchair and the whim of others, he puts me to shame. So cheerful, so gentle, so undemanding. He’s always happy to get up and always happy to go to sleep. How can I complain? I can’t.