Bittersweet

I was pleasantly surprised that my son flew here to visit me for Father’s Day from Amarillo, Texas. He came in on Thursday evening and stayed until Monday afternoon. We didn’t do anything exciting, but just a few father/ son things. I am mechanically dyslexic and he isn’t, so he helped me with a few projects that had lingered undone or half-finished, a father learning from his son.

Thursday evening, I picked up Chinese take-out and we relaxed, watching television, eating, and talking. Friday was the work day with him helping to do the lingering chores and he wanted to smoke some meat for the family and went shopping. I went shopping too. I needed milk, eggs, and bread. His surprise visit caught me with an almost empty larder. In the evening, we went to the Father/ Son meal and activities at our church.

Saturday, my daughters, their husbands, and my granddaughter came to spend time with my out-of-state son, Andrew. He smoked the meat on the grill and we went through some of the flotsam and jetsam that had accumulated in my house over the past thirty years. I haven’t quite made hoarder status, but I was well on my way.

Sunday, after church, we made a meal of smoked kielbasa, pork loin, and ribs with coleslaw, potato and macaroni salad, fresh rolls and pie and ice cream for dessert. Sunday evening we went to church again.

Monday, we talked and did very little. It was enough to have him in the house and not just the cat, Willow. I made breakfast and lunch, psyching myself up for the time of his departure. The visit suddenly became bittersweet. Sweet, because he was here, but bitter, because it wasn’t long enough and the time that we spent would only be a memory.