Borrowed Grandchildren.

Paul and I went over to visit my Dad last weekend, just to see how we was doing and to bring the framed wedding pictures I had put together. When we got there, Dad was just finishing lunch, so we sat down at the table to keep him company. Unfortunately, I could see that he wasn't in as good a mood as I'd seen him in lately. I suspected he wouldn't be as chatty as in past visits, although one should never underestimate Paul; no one can resist his charm!

Leaving Paul talking to Dad and the caregiver, I took the frames into Dad's room. As I walked down the hallway, the little girl who lives there popped out of the basement door. Her face lit up as she saw me and she ran into Dad's room with me. "Where Dullas?", she kept saying, looking around her. I finally figured out she was saying my Dad's name and asking where he was. I told her he was eating and she raced out of the room, presumably to find him at the table.

I've never known what Dad's position was on grandchildren of his own; I never had time to really ask him. I do know that after the onset of his illness, he really seemed to like spending time with little ones. It's not likely that I'll give him any grandchildren of his own, and he wouldn't know them anyway, but as I sat at the table listening to the constant flow of chat from the little girl and watching the miraculous transformation of sullen Dad to smiling Dad, I was really glad that we had the opportunity to borrow a grandchild. She really seems to bring Dad out of himself, and her parents don't seem to mind loaning her out. Lucky us!