Mental Picture

When I drive the kids to see my dad in Warrensburg I find our busy little world still bustles even in the small space of the car/van (Ours is small like a car, but has sliding van-ish doors). You need to know this because the ride is still small enough that the babies can touch each other if they really want to. They can swipe toys and ninies and they can drop choo choo trains and beg me to retrieve. I do, because I can sometimes reach while still facing forward, eyes on the road, I can blindly find a toy and I feel like superwoman. It is like reaching into a grab bag, that floorboard below my children's dangling feet.

So, we usually head out with excitement and anticipation of seeing Papa. I will never be able to put into words how much they love him. Jack especially. He begs to see him so often, and Gee. Papa and Gee? Papa and Gee. I wonder if it is God's way of making it easier on me to go. Because it is oh, so hard for me to go so often and see him fading away before my eyes and it is oh, so hard to try to explain to Greta what is wrong with Papa. Why can't he walk? Why can't he talk? Why does he cry? Jack just wants to go and be near and flash him smiles and show off. Yes, Jack just wants to be near for a little while every few days and then drive home.

Our drive home is usually so much different than the previous hour in the car. They sleep and I look out at the road ahead of me and the big sky and I have what seems like the weight of the world on my shoulders thinking about life and my dad. It's heavy. But, I can see my sleeping babies in the back seats and they are beautiful and have these little soft, pink lips that sleep in a smile. Their cheeks are pale. They are dreaming.

I like my rear view mirror fixed on them.