Posts Tagged With: Paula

Home is Where the Family is …

For the second year in a row – Ben, our oldest boy/ man will not be coming with us to Myrtle Beach.  It is not that he does not love us anymore.. I hope.  He is now in college – and the colleges have already had their break.  This leaves him home – alone – for a week – with a car.  Hmmm.  Am I too naïve to be worried  – nay.  Trusting.  Life is changing.

For the first year in a long time I have not had to plan, plan, and plan care for Dad.  I was always so worried that one of Dads caregivers would not make a shift and then Dad would be left alone on a week-end.  So – I over-scheduled and had back up after back-up.  The food was all prepared, packaged, and frozen for the week.  The bills were all paid in advance.  Phone numbers and contact information was thoroughly communicated… you get the drill.  Dad would also be a bit worried I would imagine – although he was in such good hands – none of us really needed to be concerned.  This year I am so under-planned it is ridiculous.  Yet – here we are – without Dad… I would rather have the plan, plan, planning to do!  Two very special men are out of the Myrtle Beach plans this year.  Weird as it is – there is a giant hole that is left behind.  Not sure what to do with it yet – can it be filled with books, rest, wine (grin) or good conversations with friends..

This is the first year that a dear friend of mine will not be joining us and our families reuniting.  She has a new life with a new partner and there is no Myrtle Beach in her blood it seems anymore.  She deserves this happiness as her life has not been easy as a single parent.  Again, there is a hole – a divide. 

And this is the third year that Mom is not around.  There will be no one asking me for contact information – to watch for sharks – to be careful on the roads and to watch those crazy drivers!  No one will be buying me a bathing suit as Mom always knew what would look relatively civil on me and I hated buying it myself.  No Mom to take me out to spoil me with a meal from Red Lobster – just because – and fight me for the bill.  No Mom to call and explain that we have arrived safely  – not to worry.  No Mom who will wish my family a great trip – and to not worry about a thing!  To have fun.  To get some rest (you look so tired, Stacey, you do too much!) But each time I pass a white rose … I will think of her.

Life happens.  It happened to my Mom and Dad and now it is happening to me.  I remember so well when my parents spoke about the changes their lives had endured.  Some of their friends passed away – others divorced – others grew apart… I thought nothing about it at the time as their lives were so far apart from mine. 

It seems that distance has almost been bridged.  I am so glad I remember them talking about life changes – talking about firsts.. growing older… it makes my divide seem like it is a part of life.  They survived it – I guess so too can I.

Mom and Dad were always there for my brother and I. In fact, I remember thinking that wherever they were – that was my home.  Now that they are no longer here there are times, I must admit, that I feel a little homeless.  But – other times I feel that life is happening to me the way it happened to my parents – and that it will all be okay.  I wish they were here to talk to – to listen to my epiphanies as I age.  Aha – I get it – moments.  I wonder if they felt the same way? 

As time passes, it seems I become more distant – yet closer to my family on so many dimensions.  Life has a way of bridging gaps.  Ben, Dad, my friend… my Mom.  Through it all – I still know that I am home – home is where the family is – forever in my heart. 

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A Dozen White Roses

A Dozen White Roses

A dozen white roses always marked a special occasion for Mom.

(This post is written in Bill’s voice)

They surrounded her in life – and they surrounded her in the life here-after: white roses.

No matter what the occasion, Paula loved white roses. I would always pretend to cringe at the cost of them – but that was part of the game. And what made the cheese more binding was that Stacey, my daughter, would always order them “arranged” and “delivered”.

On her birthday, in particular, Paula anticipated those roses and we all enjoyed the roses for weeks afterwards. This Wednesday would have been Paula’s birthday… I won’t tell you her age as she would have thought that to be impolite. She was as beautiful on the day she died as she was the first time I met her. She was stunning. She would often tell me the story about when she was 16 and was told she was the ugly duckling of the family. You know the story – the ugly duckling didn’t fit in with it’s family – and then realized it was actually a beautiful swan. That was Paula. My Paula – the swan.

Roses were so appropriate for her as they were so strong, yet delicate. Their aroma filled the air to the extent that one could not help but breathe in a deeply. I always pretended to not be impressed with them – you know, I’m the cheap old bugger… she’d giggle. White was the colour of her life – Paula was a nurse. She took great pride in this profession and the care she took tending to her patients was reflected in the way she’d care for the nurses uniform itself. She was quite to remark on any nurse that looked sloppy and unprofessional. Her cap was crisp, meticulously ironed, and she looked fine in it. The uniform itself was always white – rose white.

My Paula left this good earth to a better address nearly three years ago and she has been surrounded by roses ever since. I’ve just never had to have them delivered!

(Stacey’s voice) You are remembered, Mom. And you are always loved.

Categories: Mom | Tags: , , , , | 8 Comments

The Sentimental Journey Continues: The Christmas Season

The Snowman sits at his piano and pounds out three melodies:  Oh, the weather out side is frightful,  jingle bell rock, and finally have a holly, jolly, Christmas.  And David, my youngest son, still delights in watching the motion of this battery operated Hallmark toy.

Today, however, he didn’t do laps around the room.  David sat and reminisced about Nanna.  “It’s not the same, Mom.”, he said to me after the Snowman had entertained in his historical fashion.  The Snowman was so much more fun when he was at Nanna and Poppa’s house.

And then only seconds later, he and I were back at decorating the tree… Nanna’s artificial tree that she had given to us when she down-sized to a foot-tall model that sat on her stereo cabinet.

Was this the same tree that sat in a box for years in our basement?  Hmm.  David thought it was much smaller than he had remembered it being at Nanna’s house.

Yes, it is the same tree.  It’s just that now, this tree is the tree that Nanna gave to us – and that makes it special.  More special than a tree that we could chop down ourselves.

As David and I assembled the pieces, spread the malleable limbs,  and then wrapped the lights around it, we talked about Nanna and Poppa.  “What I like most about Christmas David …. is tradition”.  Tradition anchors us to our roots, our memories, our heritage.

“What I like about Christmas, Mom, is family.” , said David.

God bless him, that little boy.  His Christmas list that I opened to read today asked for hugs and kisses.

He is a sentimental little guy, our son, David.  I love to spend time with him – and I love lighting the tree with him – and talking about his memories of Mom and Dad.  I feel much more reassured that their memory will live on through our children when we remind out children about the wonderful things we shared.

This is the first time that we will not share it with Nanna and Poppa… yet they are everywhere … when I open my heart to them.  They are in the tree, the wreath, the photos, the children, the decorations… the list goes on.  Christmas is a season of memory – of tradition – of hope – and holly – jolly … or so the Snowman says.



Categories: Family and Friends, Life After Dad, Life's Lessons, Mom | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

June 25, 1944

Preamble:  I found a journal that Dad used to write in.  I guess it’s okay if I read and repeat now… I’m not sure where he began his stories.  I’ll just repeat from the first page.  These entries are now “history”.  Fascinating to read about his experiences and feelings.  Hope you enjoy.  I shall publish excerpts from his diary from time to time.


June 25, 1944

“Left Brantford at 12:00 arrived Toronto 1:30.  Picked up airman going to Christie Street who had been washed out as a pilot – had been in navy prior to this and survived one torpedoing.  Left for New Lowell 3:30 and got home via Barrie 5:30. Went to YPS  and played crocinole. Rather boring evening.  Sure wish I was back with Paula. ”


June 26, 1944

“Slept till noon.  Went to Creemore but saw very few people I knew.  Dropped in at Mumberson’s on the way back and got all the news of Bob who is away overseas.  Federation of Agriculture meeting here tonight – Dad is President.  Would have liked to go out but stayed and met everyone.  Very pleasant surprise today – letter from Paula.  Mailed an answer tonight.”

The Ultimate Board Game

Haven’t seen this game for years!


Categories: Dad's WWII Diary, Duff History | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Helen’s Mountain

Never climb mountains alone.

The flowers remain on the dining room table, as fresh as the day they arrived. The table, however, is empty where there was, only days ago, a cornucopia of never-ending goodies.

The best part about the Malloff reunion (Mom’s side of the family) is the arrival of the clan and everything afterwards.  The worst part is when they leave.  I get the sense of what it feels like to be “empty-nesters”.  Yuck.

Leaving Auntie Helen, Mom’s sister, at Toronto International today was like losing Mom again.  The two could not be more different – nor could they be more alike.  Nonetheless, it was our clan’s matriarch, Auntie Helen, who brought everyone from across Canada and the US to celebrate our family.  This reunion happens once a year but this year was the first when neither my Mom nor Dad were in attendance.  Well, at least they weren’t here physically.  The were certainly here in spirit and we never once forgot that.

The day before she left I took Auntie Helen to visit Mom and Dad’s final resting spot.  It was then when Auntie Helen said good-bye to her sister and life-long friend.  She gave a kiss to each name mounted on the outside of the niche housing their remains.  Time stood still.  She asked for some time alone and I could hear her talking once again to Mom and Dad.  It was her time for closure.  Each person has to have closure and each in his/her own time.  My son David and I sat on the bench by the main path and an older gentlemen must have caught us wiping away each others’ tears as he kindly offered us some flowers to give to whoever it was we were visiting.  He didn’t know.  Our tears were not for our loss – but for Auntie Helen’s loss.  I remember how difficult it was to see Dad grieve the loss of his bride of 61 years.  And that was tougher to take than it was for me to even lose Mom.  This was no different.  I can only imagine how painful it must be to lose a sister that you have know for 84 years.  Actually, I can’t.  But I do know that Auntie Helen mourned in peace and with grace and dignity.  She placed a carnation for Dad and a white rose for Mom.  Dignity.  She wished them, “good-bye”.  Dignity.

We then went to visit the old property where the owner graciously invited us in to tour the home.  There had been many renovations completed and in spite of the changes, the spirit of the old place still seemed to be there.  Tina, the new owner, invited us to go back into the woods if we liked.  So we did.

Slowly, we moved through the bush and reminisced about each nook and cranny.  Auntie Helen had been there so often, she knew it just as well as I did.

Through the woods and around the corner – there it was… her names-sake, “Helen’s Mountain”.  It really was a very tiny incline no more than 2 metres – and very gradual.  But this mountain had been a challenge for Auntie Helen years ago during her virgin voyage on cross-country skis.  She was terrified of the incline – which was a decline from her original approach.  She took off her skis and walked down the slope.  Well, the story was told so often about this scary spot that it eventually had to be re-named, “Helen’s Mountain.”.

I asked Auntie Helen if she wanted to tackle that mountain one more time.  She jumped at the opportunity – and so, with cane in hand on one side, and my son David on the other, she approached the mountain, walked half-way up, turned and posed for a photo.  She did it.  One fear conquered.

We climbed back into the car and made our way home after a stop at Brown’s Farm and once more to Mom and Dad’s condo.

I guess each of us has a mountain to climb and Helen, during this family reunion not only tackled one, but she tackled yet another – the loss of her sister and brother-in-law who were my Mom and Dad.  How did she do it?  Well, it certainly was not tackled while she was on her own.  The mountains Auntie Helen climbed this past week were climbed hand-in-hand with family – family of both past and present.

Categories: Family and Friends, Life After Dad, Life's Lessons, The Farm | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments


This is the first time my parents have not called me on my birthday.

This is the first time my mother-in-law has sung me happy birthday in Tukkie – Tukkie (not sure if that’s how it’s spelled)

This is the first time my husband and daughter have attended a visitation for a young girl whose life was tragically snatched at a too young age.

This is the first time I’ve been 49.

This is the first time I’ve been “without” words.  Sorry – this post will be short and sweet.  I would like, however, to say, “To all of you who have been following Dad’s/ my blog… “thank-you.”  It’s the first time I’ve publicly offered you my appreciation for all the feed-back you’ve given and “hits” Dad was so proud of while he was alive. Your support of this blog is one of the best birthday gifts I could receive… next only to the gift of my beautiful family.  I am truly blessed. ”

Cheers!  And…. TTFN

Categories: Family and Friends, Life After Dad, Life's Lessons | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Apartment 1001

This post is dedicated to my big brother, Jamie.

And so another Wednesday dinner at Apartment # 1001  has come and gone.  Last night’s dinner at 1001, however, was not like any other.  It was the absence of our parents and the addition of Jamie that made it extraordinary.

It began as any other Wednesday night – the kids and I arrived first.  Dorothee offered Dad and I a glass of wine?  Dad said to me, “Are you having one?”

“Yes, Dad”, I replied and then queried, “Are you?”

“If you are.”

And the dance began.  Wine was poured,  dinner was prepared, Ana arrived, Mary Anne, Megan, and Jonathan arrived… and we sat down to eat.  I sat in Mom’s chair – as I always did.  Dad’s chair was left free.   We all chatted and talked about our days, talked about the food, adjusted the meal as it was too spicy for young Megan, and went back for seconds.  And then the weirdest thing happened.  We were all expecting it – but not knowing what to make of it… Jamie arrived.

He was not a regular Wednesday night flyer.  His entrance was a relief.  He became part of the Wednesday night dinner crew last night.   It was so right and yet so wrong.   It was not that Jamie was there that was wrong – it was that neither Mom and Dad were there that was so wrong.  And Jamie was attending a Wednesday night dinner to say good-bye to apartment 1001 – and the memories of Mom and Dad.

And the memories raced towards us like a torrent of rain.  Photo album after photo album came out of closets and nooks and crannies.  Mom had laboured over those albums for years… and each photo was lovingly placed neatly in an album with a “caption” placed below to help whoever was looking at the albums identify the figures and the actions.  Mom always asked, “What good will these albums be once I’m gone?  No one is going to look at them.   You will likely just throw them out.”  She had no idea how powerful her work had been.  Looking through these pages felt like I had swallowed a blanket full of pins and they were ripping me apart from the inside.  Talk about bitter sweet.  The memories was so beautiful – but I just couldn’t take it.  I had to stop looking at the images.

How had Dad done it?  His digital photo frame still sat poised and at attention for Dad in his pink chair.  Night after night, Dad was transfixed by the photos Jamie and Mary Anne and others had added to the frame.  Some were old and some were new.  Dad watched them all.  I just couldn’t do it… not yet.  But I couldn’t not look at them either.  Once again, I was frozen.

Out of the pages came the photos.  Jamie had his work cut out for him as it was decided it was now his job to scan the photos and convert them to digital images so that they could be shared by all.  The most difficult part about the whole process, however, was answering the question, “What do we do with the originals?”.    There was so much history in our hands – how can one simply throw the originals away?  It seemed / seems almost sacrilegious.

And then it was time to say good-bye to apartment 1001.  It wasn’t until Jamie was putting on his shoes ready to go that I caught the distress in his eyes.  This was to be Jamie’s last time in apartment 1001.  Crap.  I had to turn away.  Jamie went down the hall to Dad’s room and on the way, pausing to glance at Mom’s room as Dad had so often done.  Mom had been gone from that room for a year-and a half but if you looked carefully enough and closed your eyes, you could see her laying calmly in bed – smiling and waving at you.  She would have normally been up – but this Mom was a tired Mom.  She needed a rest.  Jamie proceeded down the hall.  I stopped following him with my eyes in an effort to respect his private moment with “Dad”.  It was a significant time later that Jamie emerged.  It was a sad Jamie that emerged.  The moment was solemn.  He had said his good-byes…. again.  It was in Dad’s room where my brother and I had buried the hatchet with each other – with Dad as our witness.  It was in Dad’s room where Jamie and I had given Dad morphine to help him through his final journey.  It was in Dad’s room where Jamie and I had sat on either side of him and held his hand while he slipped the surly bonds of earth and moved to be beside his Paula – our mother.  Intense.  It had all been in apartment 1001 where Mom and Dad had lived – and Dad had died.  And it was time to leave.

There was only one thing to do at that moment.  And I did it.  I sang Anne Murray.  “Beneath the snowy mantle cold and clean… ”  Dad was back.  Jamie rolled his eyes.  The Dancing Nannies laughed.

And that was that.  The door closed behind us as Jamie and I left apartment 1001.

The ride home was full of story-telling.  There were stories that I could just barely remember and I felt so fortunate that Jamie had become the new raconteur of our childhoods.  He became the inspiration for stories yet to be re-told.  God certainly does work in mysterious ways.  When the door to apartment 1001 closed, a window opened.

Funny how that night at dinner, on the tenth floor, a little bird flew up to the balcony window and hovered there in an effort to get in.  I was shocked.  I had never seen a bird up that high before – maybe the odd seagull soaring, but never a little bird like this one.  And that it was just hovering trying to check out what was happening inside?  Was that Dad?  Who knows.  I guess all in all, he really didn’t need to come to be with us in the form of a bird because he was already with us – in our hearts forever.

I remember one of my last conversations with Mom when she was in the hospital.  I asked her, “What will I do without you Mom?”  Her answer was simple, “I’ll always be with you.  I’ll always be here in your heart.”

For my brother, it was TTFN Apartment 1001 – in his heart forever.

Categories: Duff History, Family and Friends, Life After Dad, Life's Lessons | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

The George Straits

(A memory from my brother, Jamie) 

One thing that I admired most about Dad was his sheer determination.  Mom would often refer to this determination, however, as him being stubborn.  Be it what it may, Dad’s tenacity literally moved mountains.  

When Mom and Dad decided to build the cabin back by the beaver dam and pond, Dad also knew he would need to build a good road on which to get to the cabin.  The dam and the pond were at the very back of the property.  The road would see its travelers through thick brush, tall grasses, a meadow, a hill (Helen’s Mountain), before they would arrive at the cabin. 

After breaking the trail all the way to the back of the property, Dad came upon a massive rock. He couldn’t move it with the tractor or the Plymouth, so he detoured around. But the more he drove by that rock, the more it bothered him. One day, I couldn’t take it any more.  He decided to pitch his will against THE ROCK. He bought a rock chisel and a small sledge hammer and set to work.

Dad had never tried to split a stone before, so he just started pounding away at it with no effect to the rock Dad used to explain, “It (the rock) was silently laughing at me and shrugging off my blows with impunity.”

Grandpa – Dad’s Dad was up to the property for a visit one time, and my Dad mentioned his frustration and ineffectual attack on THE ROCK. Grandpa asked “Are you using the fault lines?”

“What do you mean?”  Dad had no idea what he was talking about and said as much.

Grandpa said, “Let’s have a look at this rock of yours”.  

The two of them went out and he walked around the rock a couple of time with chin in hand, humming and hawing. After a few minutes of inspection Grandpa said “If you start the split here, and work the chisel over to here, then back again a few times this rock should split almost in half. If the halves are too big you can split them by chiselling here and here”.

Well, Dad had nothing to lose and he was certainly not making any progress my way. So the next day he went back to THE ROCK and started working the chisel and hammer back in forth along the fault line … And if after about two hours of hammering, didn’t that rock split in half with a mighty CRACK!  Dad was on a roll, so he started working on the halves where Grandpa had suggested.  After an hour or so Dad had the rock down to manageable chunks and moved them off to one side with the tractor.

Once that “rock” was out of the way, Dad could plough in the new road with a great sense of victory.  

For ever afters that new section of the road was referred to as the “George Straits”.  

This lesson in tenacity – never give up – really hammered a lesson home for all of us.  

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The “A Team”

July 5, 2012

It’s 7:55 pm and we (the angels and I) are all gathered to celebrate our success:  success in celebrating Mom and Dad’s life and our role in helping them to maintain their dignity … to the end.

I asked the ladies to contribute to this blog.  I wish I could capture the conversation live – but they speak too quickly and passionately – so – I ‘m asking that they capture a few words on this blog.  God bless these ladies as they speak… bring it on, girls!

I’ll start with this tag line:  Working with Bill and Paula was…

(Diane)  … an absolute pleasure.   I loved how Paula gave such easy direction and with so much encouragement.  It was so wonderful to be  a part of their journey and before long I began to feel like I was right at home.  I actually felt like I was home away from home.  It felt so good to know that I was needed and appreciated for doing just what came natural.  I can honestly say I always looked forward to going to work.  I remember having feel good moments – like sniffing the coffee beans before starting the coffee in the morning or having special moments sharing from the heart with Paula.

Oh – just a moment – Adrienne’s accusing me of writing a novel.  I’m sitting in a room with 9 other women trying to be serious  and they’re all sharing and I don’t want to miss out on the chit-chat, so this is taking time.  Oh, now there cheering and talking about who driving home!

Okay, back to where I was – I loved working here and the memories I will keep forever.   Bill and Paula’s team of girls is another reason to enjoy work.  I loved sharing and connecting each weekend.   Okay that’s it for me for now.  I’m passing the post to Adrienne.

(Adrienne) This is going to be short and sweet. I really enjoyed working  for Paula and Bill. I really enjoyed the most was having  breakfast  with them and  and talking about the old times .  I sit  here with my fellow angels and talk about  all kinds of stuff.  I finally had a glass of wine for Paula and Bill so cheers  to you guys !

(Ana) No Brandy??? Well Adrienne I must say Bill will always say ” you didn’t make the funny face yet ” as I always sniff to the bottle before pouring it in his glass.  I can still remember my first night working here Paula was offering a lot of food and she even said, “Ana can I make your bed here?”, but of course I didn’t let her do that (grin). I have many more stories to tell but to cut it short to give the girls more space for their lines. I could say I’m so lucky and thankful to be a part of this family and to work with them  Bill who was not only a good employer but a father to me because I stayed with Paula for two (2) weeks but I can say she’s a good mom…I missed you papaold…ttfn

(Heather) Well here it is Thursday night and I have missed my crib game with my Bill . I looked forward to every Thurs. Paula would laugh when we played and sometimes we would say, “there is a skunk coming in the door.”! After seven years I miss you and our games and walks outside around 2 blocks, not ready to get up yet give me half hour more(lol). So you are not gone you are just away. TTFN

(Tessie Frugal) To all the girls that Papa Bill and loving  Mom Paula have…We are all here, talking all the good things happen in our lives.  The most wonderful and great LOVE and help to us most especially after working with their family  for more than 3 years. I can’t say anything today but to say, my family and I say that we love you so much and thank you very very much.You are always in my heart.Tuck Tuck now. To Stacey you are our angel to help us always Thank you very much.

(Dorothee -the youngest)  I’ve only stayed here for a while but it seems like I’ve been here for a very long time… I’m very fortunate to have known Father Bill (what i called him)(grin), I’ve never met Paula but I’ve  heard a lot about her (kind-hearted and pretty). For Father Bill, you will always be in my heart and THANK YOU for being a father like to me, worrying during weekends (shopping too much) BOLOGNA… And THANK YOU BEAUTIFUL STACEY for making it all REAL….. TTFN Bill…

Categories: Family and Friends, Life After Dad, Life's Lessons | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments


It’s almost like they are still here.

I pour Dad a glass of wine and I pour a glass of wine for myself.

I walk to his chair – his glass I place on the silver platter that Mom had put beside his chair to keep the table from being affected by the sweat from the glass.  I sit in Mom’s green chair beside his pink chair .. and I toast his glass.  “Sante, Dad”, I say.  To your health.

He doesn’t cheer back except in my mind.  And then it hits me.  He is gone.

I wander down the hall to his bedroom where so often I helped Dad to get out of bed.  The walker is still there beside his slippers.  The slippers are worn on the bottom in the spots where he tread more heavily.  I see him sitting there – waiting for the blood to even out in his body so that he won’t fall when he stands.   The brakes are “on” on his walker while he pulls himself to his feet.

“Ahh”, he says. And closes his eyes.  And then he’s ready.  Off we go down the hall to the “pink” chair this time to have his glass of wine with me.

We move slowly.  Mom used to hold his belt buckle as though her tiny frame could prevent him from falling.  I think it was more security for her than him quite frankly.

Yes – the pink chair will do just fine.  We wheel up beside the chair, elevate the chair to make it easier for him to sit.  We move the walker close so that Dad and I can “dance” while he shifts his weight and shuffles his feet to align himself to sit.  Down he goes.  BRRRRRR goes the electric chair back down to a more comfortable angle.

“Wine, Bill?”  asks Ana or Dorothee.

“Are you going to join me, Stacey?”  asks Dad.

“Sure, Dad.” I answer.

The wine is served.  “Thanks, Dorothee.”

“Sante” we cheer each other.  A clink of the glasses and we take our first sip.  The first sip is always the sweetest.  We are together – united by our wish for “good health”.

“Sante” I wish Dad today.  The picture frame rolls photo after photo and Anne Murray plays on.

An image of my oldest son, Ben, appears.  He is with “Poppa”.  Poppa is grinning with pride for his graduate – he is tired.

… and we are back to reality.  Time to pay bills – for Bill.

The pink chair sits – ready for Dad.  Always ready for me.  Glass of wine still full.




Categories: Life After Dad | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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