The Things You See

To my son Tommy,

Your great grandfather was triple dosed up on pain killers the other day. Since he has been moved from home health care to home hospice, he was prescribed painkillers. He usually gets half a pill but no more than one whole pill a day.

Unfortunately, your great grandmother is also on the same painkillers and her prescription is for two pills a day. So when she administered the painkillers to your Great Grandpa Leo, she got confused and gave him two pills like she takes. That wouldn't have been so bad, except that in the afternoon feeding, your uncle, not knowing of the earlier dose, gave him another pill. They called the hospice people and were told that there was nothing to do except wait for your great grandfather to come down from the high.

When we came over last night for dinner at the Downey's house, I wondered why your great grandfather had his eyes wide open from his hospital bed. Then I found out the story and it all made sense. I pictured your great grandpa having the same reaction as the cat in the above picture.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. Your Great Aunt Mo and Mr Gary came over for dinner. You love having a new audience for everything and kept us laughing with your little declarations. At one point you declared to the group that when you grow up and become a priest, you will be known as Father Thomas. You hit us with a couple other zingers too as the night continued.

You have taken an extreme interest in how remote controls work and have become a remote control hog. You landed on this telethon like thing with all these old concerts and the one was a Bee Gee concert. You brought in your Great Aunt Mo into the living room to listen and you and her danced and sung to "How Deep Is Your Love" and finished with a rousing dance to "Stayin' Alive"

Of course this morning at church that whole disco thing came back to haunt me. You excitedly tug on my shirt and whisper, "Dad, I see a Bee Gee." I didn't have the energy to find out what you really were looking at, whether it was another parishioner, a saint, or a depiction of Christ. I will tell you, if you really have any aspirations of being Father Thomas, you might have to learn to distinguish between Jesus of Nazareth and Barry Gibb.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo