(photo by Stephen)
I’m not sure that I could really explain to you how this was the frosting on the cake of our very bad day. If you’ve ever lived with a parent or a grandparent with Alzheimer’s, then you might have some idea of how our day started.
It just went downhill from there.
Last night, I sat in my car and through our house windows watched firemen walking around inside, making doubly sure that we didn’t have an electrical fire. Attempting to flip a breaker had cause some shorted wires to spark and filled the home with a dreadful burning hair smell. We called the fire department, wrestled the cats into carriers, wrestled my grandfather into the car, parked on the street…and waited.
We knew that the house was probably fine. I didn’t grab my camera. Stephen didn’t grab his guitars. Hannah took some of her art, but not all. We didn’t even think about it. We had each other, we had the cats, and we were all okay.
Last night, we dimmed the lights (well, those lights that were still working) and snuggled down together in the living room to listen to Lake Wobegon stories.
“…And that’s what he felt: that this was the whole world right in front of him, and that Christmas was what was in that house. Whatever they did in that house, that was Christmas. And all of the other things that he thought were Christmas were not really. Christmas was in that house, and as long as they were all together, that would be all that they would need.”