Just Me and Dad for Now.
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It’s quiet in the house these days — just me and Dad. The world outside keeps spinning fast, but in here, time feels slower, softer. Mornings start the same way: I help him out of bed, make his coffee just the way he likes it — strong, with a little sugar — and we sit together in the kitchen, sunlight spilling across the table. Sometimes we talk about old times, and sometimes we just sit in comfortable silence, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock on the wall.
It wasn’t always like this. There used to be more voices, more movement — family dropping by, laughter echoing through the rooms. But as life changes, people move on, and routines shift, I’ve come to realize this time — just me and Dad — is something sacred. It’s not always easy, of course. There are days when he forgets things, when his steps are unsteady, and I feel the weight of worry pressing on my heart. But even then, his gentle smile reminds me why I stay strong.
We’ve learned to find joy in the simple things: the way his face lights up when I show him old photos, the pride in his voice when he tells a story from long ago, or the quiet gratitude in his eyes when I hold his hand. There’s an unspoken bond between us now — one that words can’t fully express.
At night, when the house settles into stillness, I look at him resting in his chair, and I think about all he’s done for me — the sacrifices, the lessons, the love that shaped who I am. Now, it’s my turn to give that love back. Caring for him isn’t a burden; it’s an honor.
So yes, it’s just me and Dad for now — but somehow, that feels enough. These quiet days are filled with memories, warmth, and a love that doesn’t fade with time. One day, I’ll look back and realize these were some of the most meaningful moments of my life — the days I got to walk beside my father, just the two of us, holding on to every precious second we still have.
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