Dear River

     Wow. That was a low blow. I see you have sunk to new depths. That conversation was a knife in my heart.

     We had been having a good morning, despite having to get up at 5am to get us all on the road for Dad's appointment at the urologist . When I said to Dad we were going to drop the girls off at Mom's before your appointment I did not expect you to answer as you did.

     You asked if my Mom lived down here. Not too bad, you confuse a lot of facts for Dad and he is still transitioning from the move. But then you asked the question. The question that signals what I have been dreading since you did the same shit to my Grandpa 20 years ago.

     "Have I ever met your Mom?"

     Oh, you bitch. He forgot me. You made him forget I was his daughter. Just for a moment or two, but that was enough. After a stunned few moments, I managed to reply. I joked that he is my Dad, so I hope so, but damn.

     He recovered quick, but that door is opened now. You kicked it open with your dainty, boot clad foot. I was going to post today about how nice it is to talk to him about his family back in Kansas. I love hearing about his aunts and uncles, and especially when he tells me stories about my Grandma Hazel, who died before I was born.

     Instead, I am dealing with the beginning of really losing him, like we did his father at the end.