We had a family dinner last night. I was explaining to Mom (again) about my book project, and through the uneven haze of dementia, she began to figure out what all this might actually mean.
"Is your dad going to be in your book?"
"Oh yeah, he's a major part."
"Well, I hope you're going to say nice things about him."
How can it be that she's STILL protecting him?
1 comment:
Protecting him, yes. But she also knows the complex truth of him, as a beautiful, wounded person, burdened as well as lifted up by his high ideals and all that Old South baggage, capable of such warmth and love - as well violence, ignorance, abuse...
I knew and loved your dad, and appreciate what you're writing here, especially on this anniversary.
I remember him swimming too, that strong, smooth stroke in the water and the sun-browned color of his arms and his brow.
And thanks for that story about little Janet running away. I love envisioning that.
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