“Can I take you to lunch?” Dad asks. “Your mom has an art class, and I’m driving over with her.”
I look down at my calendar, which is unusually bare today.
“I’d love it,” I say, and we make plans for him to pick me up later.
He hugs me when we see each other and asks me where I’d like to eat. We choose a healthy cafe downtown, and after we’re seated, he folds his hands to pray for us.
Suddenly, I have a lump in my throat.
I think of him a few months ago, ash-grey skin and breathing by machine. His triple bypass happened unexpectedly, and I was grateful my family and I had moved to the city where his surgery occurred just the year before.
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