The sun hides behind the snow clouds this morning. The snow falls and piles up just a little making the world white. I grab a bite to eat and consider the day ahead.
On today's agenda, shower Dad and get him into clean underwear. This is a first for me. I approach it with some apprehension, but in a moment it's like I'm getting one of my little boys into the shower. Dad seems unfazed by my presence. I put shampoo on his head. When he's finished, I hand him a towel and help him dress. Then I comb his hair and he looks funny at it in the mirror, wets a comb and does it over again.

After breakfast we go see Mom. She's in the shower too. We wait. Dad is happy to see Mom. We stay a while and I make a ruckus to light a fire under some insurance people to get Mom over to the rehab center called the Villa. Eventually I give up, being told it's impossible. Lunch is brought in for Mom and Dad and I make our exit and head over to Arbys for lunch.

With a bit of roast beef in our bellies, we drive to the local furniture store and pick up a new chair for Mom that will make it a bit easier to get up and down once she comes home, which at this moment could be tomorrow, depending on the decision of the insurance company. Who says you and your doctors are in charge?
It's snowing and the furniture store wraps it in plastic and helps us load the chair into my pick up. We drive home slowly. The afternoon passes with some anxiety for Dad. The storm makes him anxious. There ought to be some critters to worry about and shelter and feed, but today there are none. He finds some comfort in sweeping the new inch of snow off the sidewalk. He works up an appetite for a PB&J which he does not eat at first until I convince him that I already ate mine. You see, he is more concerned that I have nothing to eat and he does not want to eat if I have not eaten.

Mom calls with the good news. I guess my complaining did some good. More likely it was God answering some prayers. The insurance company has approved her transfer to the Villa. She has dressed herself and is waiting transportation. She calls again once she is settled. They have her in a nice room and are taking great care of her. Dad is visibly relieved as I tell him, explaining again where Mom is and why and how she's doing very well and will be home soon. I never have tried counting how many times I've told him. It's just what you do.

Soon my brother arrives with another wonderful dinner made by his lovely wife. We bring the chair in, eat, and then set up the chair. Dad tries it out while we watch Danny Kay and Bing Crosby in White Christmas on Netflix. The anxieties flee, mostly, and another day is done. Sleep is it's own reward.

And tomorrow is another day, again.