“Wake up Jack. Wake up son.” This is how I start my day, most days. Weekends not so much, but definitely Monday through Friday. It is my job to wake up my oldest son, get him dressed, and feed him breakfast. “Come Jackson – rise and shine. What do you want for breakfast this morning? Cereal or sausage biscuits?” (Jimmy Dean’s sausage biscuits have been one of his favorites for a while now). I gently roll him over, change his diaper and put on clean clothes. I then carry his mostly limp, half-asleep body to the living room and lay him down, ever so lightly so as not to disturb his second round of sleep, on the oversized chair. I then cover him up and start making his breakfast choice.
“Wake up dad. Rise and shine old man.” This is how I start most of my days, weekends included. It is my job to wake up my dad, get him dressed and fix him breakfast. “Come on Josh – time to get up and get going. What will it be today – bagel or cereal?” There was a time I’m sure when I was young and my dad would do the same for me. Now that he is in the twilight of his life, this is the least I can do for him. I help him put on his clothes, bring him his walker and escort him, slowly, to his favorite recliner – the one with the view of the woods out beyond the swimming pool. I then cover him up, and begin making his breakfast.
This is the circle of life. The child becomes the parent. Three years have already passed in a blink of an eye. I am fearful that when I next awake, Jackson will be saying those words to me as I lay there with the strength of a three year old in the body of a 90 year old. I just hope he loves me then as much as I love him now.
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