“Want one, dad?” I asked.   

       “Just one?” he joked poking me in the side.

       “I don’t know. Can you even finish one?” I laughed.

       “Fine, you’re right. One peanut butter sandwich, please!”  So I began to assemble out sandwiches, making sure the peanut butter was put on nice and thick. It was our favorite snack.

       “Your mom would have laughed if she saw you cooking,” dad pointed out. Because of his age, standing was not an option and so he sat at the dining room table. I could hear him push around the salt and peppershakers on the wood.

       “Dad, I wouldn’t technically call this cooking. There isn’t much to it.”

       “Hey, anything having to do with food is counted as cooking,” he debated.

       “So growing fungus on a piece of bread for a science project is cooking? Would you eat it?”

       “Well, no, but—“

       “Case closed,” I smirked. And even though my back was to him, I was sure he was smiling, as well. It had been a long time since we had had a conversation like this, almost as if I were back to being a kid sitting at the table, listening to dad chirp on about fishing.  Except this time… it was reversed. The circle of life was making its way around.  But how long could I stay? I had a career, a very time-consuming career; a career that I was lucky to even get days off from. That’s why I had come here in the first place. If I weren’t here, who would take care of dad? He was at the point in his life that it was too early to send a nurse to watch him and yet he couldn’t live by himself. The only option was for him to move closer to where I lived, so that I could keep a closer eye on him.  It was an ultimate decision: to move into the city.