Breakfast each Sunday at 8:30 a.m. has been a tradition with my parents now for several years. It is really the only time that works to get the kids together with the grandparents beyond big holidays. We don’t live that far apart, but dinners during the school week don’t work for the kids because of sports, homework and bedtime needs, and weekends don’t work for us adults because when we aren’t driving a kid somewhere, we are enjoying a night together with our children.
We show up today and I don’t see their car in the parking lot. I call them at their home and there is no answer. We go in and figure they are just not coming today. A year ago, I would have assumed something horrible happened and called until I found them. Today, my daughter and I are going to enjoy breakfast together.
When we finish, I call their retirement home. “Hi Mom, how are you?”
“We’re surviving.” This has been my mom’s catchphrase in response to this question for the past few months.
I let my mom know we missed them at breakfast and thank them for it since we billed it to their membership account. My mom’s response is “Dang it, we thought today was Saturday.”
I’m a little surprised by my calm. However, not only are they doing okay, they have stayed in their retirement home more this week than they typically do. Comforted.