Tonight we attended a Passover Seder at his facility, which was a cute and somewhat tortuous affair (enough talking, bring the chicken soup!). Apparently Sid’s last Seder was at age 16, so there’s been a 75-year gap since he last spread horseradish on matzos. Much to his surprise, he could still read some of the Hebrew. Much to my surprise, he did not spill Manischewitz wine on his new white shirt.
I’m visiting for a week – shuttling Dad to many medical appointments and trying to have some relaxation time with friends. It’s a good phase; he is doing well in his new environment and thriving in many ways despite occasional crises. Mom still communicates with me when I least expect it. She and I are both a little concerned that my father now refers to Ida, the 98-year wonder woman, as his “date.” I’ve put parts of my life on hold; I regularly support Alaska Airlines and Hertz Rental Car. I’m trying to do the right thing and I’m enjoying being a good daughter. Much like the Passover herbs, it’s bittersweet.
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