Day after day, I'm more confused ...

It's funny how small things can stir up large memories.

I was supposed to visit my folks today, but they've both been battling a bit of a head cold the past few days. I called Mom this morning and she could barely talk. We decided it was best if I let them rest today, and perhaps visit one night this coming week. She seemed so tired ... and her voice sounded like a scratchy 78 rpm record, like the ones my Dad keeps on the shelf in the basement -- Old recordings by Eddy Arnold, Fats Domino, Nelson Eddy, even Bessie Smith ... records that belonged to my Great Aunt Lois. Dad would dig through them gleefully and find ones that made his heart sing. He'd lower the needle gently, and I'd hold my breath with anticipation. Who would it be that night? He'd sing along, or sit back in his chair with a beer and soak in the sounds. I learned that from him -- the appreciation of music. The love of sounds and melody. For some reason, hearing Mom croak like a newborn frog reminded me of those times with Dad, in the living room with an RC Cola and a bag of pretzels. I miss those days. It's hard not to, now, when he asks me to make sure I visit this week so we can go over "some things." He's embracing his mortality and is doing so very bravely ... I wish I could purloin even a fraction of that steadfast courage. But I'm terrified. I can't let that show. And I won't. At least not publicly. I'll save my breakdowns for those stolen moments I have when I can turn on my "records," nurse a cocktail, and get lost. Dobie Gray sang "Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul ... I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away..." I love that song.