Thinking of Dad

Toward the top of the list of my gratefulness to my dad has be the time he jumped off a high up deck into a pool and saved me from drowning.

But something else is visiting my heart now:

Being in assisted living (it's called assisted living, but it's a place where you are assisted more than a place where you are living) went against dad's grain.

Dad spoke to his best friend Wolfgang (aka Johnny) every day.  And we spoke every day. One day before we hung up, he said, "Alright, my friend," which was how he signed off with Johnny. He quickly and with apology in his voice corrected himself and changed friend to son. 

But there was no remorse needed for that, the opposite.  The fact that my dad felt comfortable to slip out of calling me son, and to speak to me as he did to his friend meant the world to me.

Maybe you'd understand better if I used more words.  But there are only a few more words coming now:  When dad was vulnerable and I was there for him, and he could even for a second move out of his well worn dad mode with and call me friend rather than son was a giant gift from G-d.