“What are you making for dinner, Mom?” Keeping my face neutral, I answer my dad’s question. “I was thinking chicken and veggies, but if you don’t want that, I can order out for pizza.” He smiles. “Pizza sounds good.” “Pizza it is then.” Sometimes it’s a struggle not to correct him, but I have to keep reminding myself that this is his reality, and just because it doesn’t match mine doesn’t make what he’s experiencing any less valid.
Oh my heart
