Yesterday afternoon I had dinner with my parents. This is unusual only because they live 2 hours away and I wasn’t expecting to see them. But they were out driving around and wound up in Mason City. Because why not? I swear my parents are part gypsy!
As I was driving home my husband (who is out of town) asked what we talked about. I had no good response. We were together for 90 minutes and yet I got nothing? At first I was really bothered by this. I was paying attention. We talked the entire time. But not about anything earth-shattering. We talked about my niece and nephew / their grandkids. About vacations we took decades ago. About the weather (yes really). Just simple conversation. And it was wonderful.
To put it mildly, I am the black sheep of my family. My folks and I don’t see eye to eye on a number of things, several of which came to a head in the last couple years. There have been testy exchanges, shouting and long periods of radio silence. But last night we just hung out. We shared a meal. We talked. We laughed. We reminisced. We enjoyed being together. It it felt great. No, we didn’t solve any of the world’s or the family’s problems. But that’s what made it so nice.
As much as it pains me to admit it, my parents are getting older. Sure, they are in good health and sure, I come from a long line of people who live into their mid 80’s at least. But anything can happen any day to anyone. They say life is what happens while you are making plans. I saw that first hand yesterday and it’s a lesson that’s going to stick with me for a while.