The next time you hear me complain about having traded a five day a week job (Frost School) for a seven day a week job (care taking of my father and grandson), please remind me about May 12, 2009.

Today, after a difficult week with Sam, my 91+ year old dad (three visits to the ER), and an unnerving phone call from him last night, I went to his apartment this morning not sure about what I would find.

What I did find was my dad at his computer, writing an apology e-mail to me for worrying me last night. He was dressed, breakfasted, and totally aware of himself and the world about him. We chatted for a half an hour about last night, about the schedule for the next few days, and about whether he would need extra help while my wife, my daughter, my son-in-law, and myself are away at the end of the week for my nephew’s wedding.

Sam was quite clear that he did not want any additional help beyond what he gets at his Assisted Living facility, and, in fact, said he would look forward to being more on his own for a few days. I asked him to think about that decision and said I’d pick him up for dinner at 6 this evening, and we could revisit this issue.

I left, most relieved at what I had just witnessed.

With relief that Sam was ‘whole’ again, I went home to await my almost four month old grand son Eli whom I had agreed to watch while his dad went to a doctor’s appointment. Said prince arrived and proceeded to have one of the few melt downs I’ve ever seen him have (usually the two of us have a secret pact against his parents and get along famously).

It took about a half an hour and a good deal of patience, but I eventually darkened my bedroom and lay down with him, and he was able to fall asleep (no doubt exhausted from his meltdown). There followed an hour and a half of pure bliss as Eli slept soundly and appeared most innocent (I may have slept a moment or two also). When he awoke, I gave him the bottle he had previously rejected, and he happily slurped most of it up.

We parted, perhaps a bit unsteadily, with my daughter strolling her first born home, followed by his dad in the car.

I hastened over to pick up my father for our agreed upon six PM dinner. We went to a neighborhood Italian restaurant where he could indulge in one of his favorite dishes, Italian sausages, peppers, and onions over pasta.  We talked about the day, his and mine, and he told me again that he did not want or need any special care while we were gone for the wedding. He even gave me a wonderful line for the toast I will give to my nephew and his wife-to-be at the rehearsal dinner Friday night.

I took him back to where he lives and left him on his walker slowly making his way upstairs to his room.

And so ended a lovely day.