Think How Much Worse You'd Feel if You Were an Elephant

I've been ill the last couple of weeks, and at each stage of this bug I've been reminded of my Dad. Last week when I was using up a box of Kleenex, my Dad's voice popped into my head, "Think how bad you'd feel if you were an elephant." Later, as it moved into my chest and lungs, I heard him say, "Think how bad you'd feel if you were a gorilla." And then as it moved into my throat and neck, "Think how bad you'd feel if you were a giraffe."

Phase II hit last night. I could almost feel his left hand holding my stomach, and his right hand holding my head. And for just a tiny moment, I thought I heard Mom gagging in the background. Mom always had a weak stomach for such things. In the middle of the night I longed for the Lysol smell that used to linger as Dad disinfected everything in sight. I was too sick to do much disinfecting and was really missing someone to do it for me.

About 4:00 a.m., stretched out on the couch completely spent, Dad's favorite scriptures were playing in my head as if he were reading them to me himself -- and maybe he was. I also could hear him telling me, "Mind over matter." No matter how many years he studied the Book of Mormon, there was a part of him that was still Christian Scientist.

Tonight, as I'm trying to figure out what I should eat, I'm longing for Dad's homemade milkshakes. There was something magical about Dad's milkshakes that made everything feel better.

I can't help wondering what Dad's calling is on the other side of the veil. Nurse? Babysitter? Ice cream scooper? Compassionate service? All of the above?

Thanks for being there last night Dad.