I drove—well, maybe "limped" is a better word—as I had no brakes and my tires were barefooting it. This was late September back in 2015. I moved in with my brother, with all my worldly worth in the back of a 2001 Infinity QX4. All my worldly worth, except my book collection, which, after providing gas for the road, found a good purpose at Goodwill when we moved in.
At that time, my parents were still able to care for themselves. But each successive visit showed more cracks in their resolve than the last. My brother and I would take the pretty but long drive down to Beaufort, SC, actually to the sea islands past the town.
Well, I found a job as a butcher, which had been my occupation in a previous life, before my now ex-wife requested that I leave my home. The divorce was finalized before the year ended. That's how I found myself smoking turkeys for many appreciative customers. So I worked, I visited, and I hung out with my brother, who had recently become a widower. His daughter moved in. His daughter moved out. We cooked and made the holidays nice.
Fast forward to the following August, I was between jobs (a frequent occurrence, which could have had something to do with the divorce). I agreed to start at a restaurant in Mt. Holly after the weekend, as we were headed south to visit Mom and Dad and some of our five other siblings. However, I never started at that new restaurant. As I rode home from the weekend, I packed some of my worldly possessions and returned to the sea islands on Monday.
At the ages of 88 and 90, respectively, it was apparent to both the group of siblings present and those who were not that Mom and Dad needed help. So, thinking back to the only poem I know my dad wrote, "Have you helped someone today?", I volunteered to try and honor my mother and father, even though it proved to be quite a challenge.