A smile that breaks hearts

The sun has come out at last. After a deep, dark winter, the sky is a deep blue highlighted with bright white clouds. The birds have returned and dodge about searching for food and nesting material. The bay is a deep cerulean sparkling in the sunlight.

The hospice aide wheels Dad into the sun. His eyes close. Pleasure at the warmth or harsh sunlight against fragile lids? Where are his sunglasses? I know I saw them recently. They are somewhere in the house I have yet to unpack. Later. Another task for a 'later' that holds so many undone acts.

Today is about the sun. Another aide hands us sunblock. Rats. I didn't think of that either. I brought a beer. Dad smiles. Sips a little beer through the a straw. He loves his beer but he's having trouble today. The straw keeps slipping away.

Mum fusses over Dad's lack of a hat. The bright sun on his pale, delicate skin. The dribbling beer.

Dad closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun. He smiles. He'll stay there all afternoon and be burned to a crisp. He doesn't care. It's warm and bright and we're there and we love him.

It's time to go in. I don't want to go. Dad doesn't want to go. He smiles anyway.

It breaks my heart.