“Something on your mind, kiddo?” dad questioned me.  Handing him his sandwich along with a napkin, I took a seat left of him.   I looked over my shoulder, towards the sink and through the window, where the sun beamed in, casting a shadow in front of me. Of course, it was my shadow.  

       “Ya,” I answered truthfully.  He nodded his head, as if he had already known the answer.  

       He leaned in.

       And then I couldn’t contain it anymore. I needed to tell him.

       “I want you to sell this house and move closer to me,” I blurted out.  He leaned away, his mouth in a tight line. I fumbled with my fingers under the table. Folding his arms, he replied:

       “You know I can’t do that.”

       “I know but I thought—

       “Your mother’s spirit is here. You want me to leave her?”

       “No. But dad, that’s not the point!”

       “I know your point. You think I can’t take care of myself.  Well, let me inform you: I’ve been taking care of myself for over 65 years. I think I can take care of myself for another ten years.”

       “Dad, you do realize that I haven’t seen you in the last 3 months. The time spread won’t get any shorter.”

       “I know.”

       “And you do know that no one in our family is close enough to help you if you’re in trouble?”

       “That’s not true.  Mary lives just down the street—

       “Ya, and it’s a miracle that she’s not six feet under by now…” I grumbled.