First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your words of encouragement make it all worthwhile. Everything. All of it.
I am as good as one can be. I give thanks for the past five years of seeing my Dad twice daily. Not many people get that gift. I did, and even if it meant hearing the German submarine story for the 54th time, it was worth every minute (remind me to tell you how Dad saved 5200 soldiers from being sunk by the German submarine sometime. It is a great story.)
It helps that he passed away in such a relatively trauma-free manner. He was slipping further and further into dementia, and he knew it. So better to go than to stay.
I'm ok. Mom is ok. But someone is not ok.
Goldie is not ok.
My dad drank precisely 3 beers a day. So what if the first one was at 9:30 a.m.? He had been up for 4.5 hours by then, so in his mind it was practically lunchtime.
When I say 9:30, I mean 9:30. Not 9:15 or 9:45. What kind of Army do you think we are running here, soldier? Nope, it had to be on the dot.
The other day at about 9:33, Goldie bolted awake from a deep sleep. She ran to the back door and stood there, looking. Waiting for Dad to come in from the garage, where he kept the beer. The beer he went out to get at 9:30.