My Dad And A Cheesesteak

My dad and a cheese steak I had a flash of a memory this morning of a day I spent with my Dad and a cheese steak. It was just a simple trip to the mall we made together to pick something up. I can’t remember what or why but as we finished the shopping we ended up in the food court.  Being a Jersey girl with a Jersey Dad we made a bee line for the counter with the cheese steaks. I can smell them right now. Gathering our food we made our way to a free table and munched on our food in companionable appreciation for the cheese steaks. We rated them on a scale of ten at about 7 which was more than acceptable and ate them with gusto and my Dad’s occasional exclamation of “man, that’s good”! He was always ready with a heartfelt “man” when he was doing what he did best which was wholeheartedly enjoying his life with a smile. My Mom wasn’t with us and the feeling I remember was that she was home safe and sound with a friend spending time with her (and keeping an eye out) and my Dad and I were having a well needed break from caregiving and worry. My Dad wasn’t sick yet and we were comfortable and happy in each others company. We were kidding around and just hanging out. I had buried that memory and I’m thrilled that it chose to rise up for whatever reason to remind me of yet another feeling from my caregiving journey; the feeling of closeness with my Dad, a new bond with him as we cared for my Mom together, and simple joy of having a few brief moments of relaxing without too much concern. I treasure this memory and all the feelings it triggered. It was one of my better moments, one where I was present and grateful for what I was experiencing in the here and now. Being able to do this on occasion was a side effect of my intense caregiving journey. I learned to stop and smell the roses when they appeared in front of me no matter what shape they were in. Small simple moments of serenity like hanging out with my Dad sharing cheese steaks in the food court became the beads of joy I strung together to wear when I felt I couldn’t go on. Yet another gift of caring for my loved ones. Thanks for the memories.