Amy's dad may be gone by now, as Amy got a call at work today to say to come as soon as possible, the last of the cancer vigil in the nursing home was almost over. A couple of days ago Amy's only sibling, Jill, flew in from Oregon to be with her dad and say good-bye. Amy and her husband both have good jobs in management for companies. Jill's a stay-at-home mom who's married to a surgeon. George, their dad, was a Methodist minister for many years; his wife was a homemaker.
George had been briefly awake when he heard that his oldest daughter was flying in to see him and that Amy was on her way down the road to the airport to pick her up. "Get something to eat when you pick up Jill," he told Amy in his whisper of a voice. "Have Mother give you some money. It'll be our treat."
There is something about this that keeps echoing in my soul. The sweetness of a father wanting to treat his daughters to dinner, even though they have plenty of money. The caring about his family and others that is so deep it's not even lost in the bigness of impending death. The poignancy of the old-fashioned phrase I haven't heard in a long time. "It'll be our treat."
The love of it all just bring tears to my eyes.