I had my Saturday arranged to pick up Bena at 12:30pm, go to the hospice for a visit and then come home and get some work done at home.  But life doesn’t go in a straight line without its complications.  Bena called at 10am to say that she was at the airport but forgot to take a government issued ID so she could not board the flight.  She had to return home where she baked some biscotti to bring and I proceeded with my revised schedule.  She got a later flight so I went to the airport for 10pm instead. I didn’t make it to the hospice. 

Mom went over to her house to get some things done. Sophie arranged to have movers take the sofa and love seat over to her home at 1pm but they were 3 hours late so that also messed up her day. If life was predictable, what excitement would we have?  But I have to admit that it irritates me when I make an appointment and people are late. It’s as if they think their time is more important than mine.  Hairstylists are notorious for being late but I can say that in the many years that I was a hairstylist, I made sure that I was on time for my clients although I had one client who was consistently late and when I asked her about it, she said that she was an architect and therefore her time was money.  I told her that she can either show up on time or I would charge her for the time I wasted waiting on her or alternately, I would refuse to do her hair.  She was late for her next appointment and I billed her for my lost time.  She stopped coming after that.  I was happy.   

Mom and Bena went to the hospice yesterday and then went over to Mom’s house to get some packing done.  I stayed home and made some meals for the next few days for us because if I am at work all day and they are packing, no one is going to want to come home after a long day and cook dinner.  In between cooking, I was organizing some family pictures on the computer (because I can’t just do one thing at a time).  I was looking at some old pictures. 

I spent considerably more time looking at pictures of dad.  When I went to visit him on Thursday, I had a flashback to a time when I could not have been more than 5 years old.  Dad made some movement and I flashed back to Grandfather Babul or maybe it was Grandfather Ramraj but I saw an old man leaning over towards me and talking to me in a gentle voice and I was paying special attention to his hand.  The person was walking slowly and patted my head and I was walking beside him holding his hand.  The hand was withered and old but gentle and I could feel the love.  That was how I felt when I was walking Dad over to the table in his room to have his dinner.  The man I was walking with looked more like Grandfather Babul or Grandfather Ramraj and very little like my father.  I could hear how weak his voice is getting.  I know when I was looking at his pictures this weekend, I was searching for my father but the man I knew could only be found in old photographs.  

If anyone has pictures of my parents when they were younger or even more recent ones, please do me a favour and send them to my email address.  I have thousands but you can never have too many pictures.  I only wish I had any of my fore parents. I have one of Nani and Nana but that’s the only two of my four grandparents.  Photographs are a powerful reminder of our histories and with working on my family tree for over 30 years, I have come to appreciate their importance in our lives.