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The last few years have started to wear on the three-bedroom house. I tried to keep up with the landscaping and general maintenance, but with two jobs and caring for my dad, everything else eventually fell to the wayside. The once-black shutters are now a dull gray, paint has started to chip along the base of the house, and one of the wooden front steps is cracked. One of these days I’m going to fall straight through. Maybe then I’ll muster up enough energy to have it fixed.
The bushes are overgrown, covering the windows, and the swing on the front porch is leaning to the left. I’ve wanted to take it down for years, but the damn thing holds too many memories, so there it sits—dilapidating more each day.
Our home wasn’t always like this. When my mother was around, everything was bright, colorful, and full of life. But she left when I was eight years old, and nothing has been the same since. She couldn’t do it anymore—at least that’s what she told my father the day she went. My dad has tried his hardest to fill her role. There were moments he succeeded and moments he failed, but he never gave up.
When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get away. Getting accepted into veterinary school was a dream come true, and those first few months in the dorms were everything I’d hoped they would be, until one day they weren’t.
I was sitting in Biology 101 when they pulled me out of class. My dad had suffered a stroke. I rushed home and the next few weeks flew by as he and I faced our new normal. He had right-side paralysis, which confined him to a wheelchair, and initially his speech was affected. Over the years, with the help of several therapists, it has improved. These days he talks slowly, but his words are clear, and in the disaster our life’s been recently, that is a miracle.
Against Dad’s will, I dropped out of school. It was either that or put him in an extended-care facility, and I couldn’t send the only parent I had left to a nursing home. He’d spent his life caring for me, and that’s a favor I was willing to return. We sold Ruff Time Vet Clinic to his partner, using the money to pay off hospital bills, pay his caregivers, and socking the rest away to help keep Animal Haven—who’s main source of income are donations and grants—up and running.
With Dad’s Social Security, my jobs, and what we have in savings, we manage to stay afloat. Every penny I make goes back into Animal Haven and toward bills, and on the rare occasion I have some money left over, I tuck it away for something special—which usually ends up being a beer or two with one of my friends. Although that hasn’t happened in a long damn time.
I close my eyes, and not for the first time, I think about what it would be like if my father lived in a facility that could manage his daily needs. I think about what it
would be like to work one job rather than two and come home at night to a husband instead of being my father’s caregiver. But my gut twists at the thought, and I instantly feel bad for allowing my mind to go there.
I’m in my late twenties now, and not once did I ever think I would still be living at home at this point. I should be preparing for graduation, lining up a job, and buying my first house. I should be thinking about finding a good, decent man, settling down, and building my future. Instead, all I think about is whether or not there are enough Depends or bed pads in the cabinet, and how I’m going to get Dad to and from his next appointment.
Duke pushes his nose into my shoulder, and I reach back to give him a pet. “I know, buddy, we’re going.”
Opening the door, I slide out, followed by the dogs, and make my way up to the front of the house, where I’m met by Sharon Daniels. Sharon is the mother I never had. I grew up with her daughter, Claire, who is now a first-grade teacher at the local elementary school. Growing up, if I wasn’t at home, there was a good chance I was at Claire’s. Sharon also happens to be an RN and one of my father’s caregivers.
Her husband died thirteen years ago in a fire, and since then, she does whatever she can to keep herself busy. Her sister Lucy also helps out with my dad, and they’re a godsend. I don’t know what he and I would do without them.
“How was Dad today?” I ask, shuffling the dogs into the house. Duke and Diesel sniff at Sharon and then head straight for their food bowls, which I have set up in the kitchen.
“Today was good. The weather was nice, so we got up and went for a walk around the neighborhood.”
“I bet he loved that.”
She smiles and nods for me to follow her into the kitchen. “He did. I think it wore him out. He’s back in his room sleeping.”
When I walk into the kitchen, I find the mouthwatering sight of a warm, home-cooked meal sitting on the table. It probably sounds stupid, but the thought of eating a home-cooked meal almost brings me to tears.
“Sharon, you didn’t have to do this. I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
“I know I didn’t, Mo, but I wanted to. I invited Claire over. She should be here any minute.”
“Thank you,” I say, wrapping her in a hug. “I appreciate it.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. We all deserve a warm meal every now and then, not those microwave meals you eat.” She gives me a pointed look.
There’s a soft knock on the front door, and when it opens, Claire walks in. Duke lets out a hefty bark and almost plows her over as she walks into the kitchen.
“Hey, Dukey,” she purrs, scratching the top of his head. “I heard Rhett came home today. I’m surprised he didn’t come pick up the dogs.”
“He tried.” I pull out a chair and sit down.
Sharon is a damn good cook, and I don’t waste any time plopping a big helping of shepherd’s pie onto my plate. When Sharon and Claire make no move to sit down, I look up to find them both staring at me.
“What?”
“You saw him?” Sharon asks, pulling out a chair.
I nod and shovel a bite into my mouth.
“And you talked to him?” Claire asks.
