Where Does Mom Keep The Sheets?
Stroudsburg, PA
May 1998
My father never, ever called me at work. He just didn’t ever
call. So when he called one Friday, just two weeks after my mother death, my
secretary was unnerved to hear his voice.
She charged into my meeting and interrupted us, “Sorry”, then she
lowered her voice and leaned over to me, “Bridget, it’s your dad, He’s on the
phone and he needs to speak to you. He told me not to interrupt but I was sure,
you wanted to take his call.”
I was unnerved to hear that he was calling. Something big
had to be brewing and I didn’t think I could take it. So I left the meeting and went to my office
and closed the door behind me. I picked up the phone with intrepidation.
“Hi Dad, what’s up” I asked with great hesitation.
“Hey Bridge, where does mom keep the sheets?” he asked.
“What?” I never expected this question so it took a moment
to comprehend what he asked. And truly, the question stings me.
“The sheets. The sheets to the beds in the back room. Kathy is coming down with the boys and I want
to change the sheets”.
“In the linen closet”, I told him.
“Where’s that?’ he asked with a slight tone of
embarrassment.
“When you come out of your bedroom, it’s right there on the
left. By the washing machine.”
“Oh, oh. I never noticed it before. OK, thank you.” And that was it. He hung up.
Two weeks later, he called me again. This time he wanted to know where could he
buy Dockers pants. I agreed to meet him
on the weekend to help him with this task and he seemed relieved to have
someone else figure out the mundane things in life for him. And it broke my heart to listen to him
struggle with these questions as my father tried to figure it out how to go
at it alone.
