Home is where the heart is

“‘I’ve got you, Dad,’ I said, helping my 91-year-old father out of his recliner. His hand trembled as it found mine, and as he struggled to stand, there was a sadness to his weak smile that I had never seen before. He was declining, unable to walk on his own or be by himself. It made me thankful that he had recently moved into an assisted-living facility nearby. But still, he missed the home where I had grown up and where we had shared years of precious memories.

“‘Remember that old gray owl that would sit in the tree out back?’ he’d ask, reminiscing as we sat together in his room. ‘I’d say, “Guess who I love” and the owl would go, “hoo-hoo” and I’d reply “My pretty girl!” and give you a great big hug.’ I nodded, as I cherished those times dearly…but we both knew those days were gone.

“One evening, I took my dad outside in his wheelchair to watch the sunset. As we breathed in the crisp fall air, he seemed quiet and homesick. My heart ached to fix it, to take all of his pain away, but I was helpless. Suddenly, he looked up in the tree, and his lips spread into a smile.

‘Guess who I love?’ he asked. I looked around in confusion, but then heard a ‘hoo’ from an owl perched in the tree. ‘My pretty girl,’ he answered, reaching out to hug me as we laughed tearfully. And I realized that we still had time to make more cherished memories.”

—Linda Jeff, 59, Farmington Hills, MI