Black with Sugar, and a Blueberry Muffin

Life with Dad (William H. 'Bill' Morrissey)

  It occurs to me that the most recent conversations with an ancestor happened over the course of a year and a half, and many cups of coffee (black with sugar, and a blueberry muffin) over 2 years ago. I was laid off in July 2006, and very shortly thereafter, started going to visit Dad once or twice a week. We didn't know it then, but he was in the last 2 years of his life. He was sick and tired, and sick and tired of being sick and tired. He was going for blood transfusions every week or so, and this made for a perfect reason to visit. Treatments often took the better part of the day, leaving us with nothing to do but talk. We had some laughs, my dad and me.
  That November, my husband and I (finally) managed to convince him to spend Thanksgiving with us. We had discussed him coming to live with us before, but agreed not to push the subject as long as Dad was comfortable living alone. That November, he agreed to come for a week to celebrate with us. The day after Thanksgiving, he had a transfusion appointment. After that, he was going to go home.  We had finished for the day, and I was driving him home when he said "I don't want to go there. Do I have to?" The one thing my heart had been hoping to hear.
   And so, for the next year and a half, I was once again living with Dad. The last time we lived under the same roof, I was a teenager- headstrong, stubborn, 'persecuted', typical. He was an 'old man'. Nearly 40 years older than me, to be precise (sort of), and he knew everything I was going through, and he knew he had to let me go through it.
   This time around, we promised ourselves and each other, would be different. Adult/adult relationships with parents are very different from child/adult relationships. He always told me that he was 'not your pal, not your friend.' That changed when he came home in 2006. He was still my Dad, but now he could be something else, too. We could finally be friends. It was something I had looked forward to for so long, I wasn't sure I was prepared for all that meant. I think he was looking forward to it, too.
  For about the first month, our newly redefined family was all about best behavior, and indoor voices. Then something strange and wonderful happened- a cup of coffee and a muffin for breakfast, and a pair of silly 'toe-socks'. It was an appointment day, so we were off on an hour+ car ride to sit in the hospital for a couple of hours (at least), and I had worn the toe socks my daughter had given me for Mother's Day.
  Usually, our hospital visits were pleasant enough- calm, quiet voices, coffee and cookies while waiting for the transfusion, but I had decided to try to lighten the mood a little. Just as Dad got to the 'what's on TV portion of the program, I took off my shoes, propped my feet up on the edge of his bed, and waited for him to notice. I can still hear his laughter.
  Over the course of that wonderful, scary, happy, year and a half, I got to know a man I am so happy to call my friend.