Thank You

Today I was washing the car. I don’t think that I have ever washed a car before. My solution to a dirty vehicle is to run it through a car wash when it is really disgusting.

Ordinarily I keep the car covered with a thin layer of dirt to protect it from the dust but once in awhile we give in to the army of squeegee kids who haul buckets of water around parking lots waiting for a dust bunny on wheels to arrive so that they can earn a few dollars while the driver shops, eats or whatever.

Anyway the car has been washed a couple of times since our arrival in Mexico, but due to the dust we usually don’t bother. What’s the point? We no sooner have it all shiny and then we drive down the road in that cloud of dust that follows us (everyone) every where, and before we reach our destination the car is once again covered in silt.

Today it is just past a week since my Dad died and it was one of those restless days where I just couldn’t settle into anything. On the hundredth time, when I looked out the front door, I finally noticed what a disgrace the car was.

Now I can not leave the house without my four bad girls so I put all of them into the car so that they could lick the windows while watching quietly, instead of standing at the front door barking, or worse: fighting. I got a bucket, sponge and hose and set to work. It was somewhat therapeutic having something to do and as I worked away at picking the bug bodies off of the windshield and blasting the mud from the wheel wells, I eventually tuned into a sound that I have been subconsciously listening to all day.

There is a huge gathering of people over at the club; I think that there may be a soccer tournament there as periodically kids of all ages have walked past the house kicking soccer balls or passing them back and forth. But what I heard this afternoon was music and singing, and though I could not understand the Spanish song it was certainly a joyous celebration of some sort and I couldn’t help but be reminded that life goes on.

I am still shaking my head over my Dad’s death, but clearly I have so much to be thankful for . . . too many blessings to examine one by one at this late hour, but probably none more important than the many friends who have enveloped my family with warmth and kindnesses this week.

I did not return for my Dad’s funeral because I knew that there was really nothing I could do for Dad. It was a difficult decision to stay here but in the end I recognized that it would be more important for me to wait until things settle and see if I can’t convince my Mother to join us in Mexico for the rest of the winter.

My Dad was so concerned about what would happen to Mom when he was gone and I had promised him on more than one occasion that we would all look after her. My greatest regret to date is that we could not bring my Dad here, but now that he is gone Cath and I are hoping that my Mother will join us so that we can take care of her for the rest of the winter, while she recovers from the demands of the last few months of caring for my Dad.

I am sorry that I missed you at the funeral home last week. But I am so grateful for everyone who ventured out into the cold to visit with my family. You will never know how much I appreciate the love and support. It is one of my most recognized blessings that during my life I have met some of the kindest, most considerate people and I am so grateful. Thank you.