Another interesting thought occurred to me on the Bucks County move. I'll be living next door to my parents. My step mother (87) has congestive heart failure, and quite possibly will not live to see me move in. My father has arthritis and a host of mobility issues. And beyond that, my diagnosis would be chronic depression. He does less and less and less and less. With every passing day. At this point, he's doing little to resist the maelstrom of despair he's being pulled into.

And I'm going to take care of them. I can try to disguise that fact by talking about boundaries and such, but basically, that's what it amounts to. I'm going to take care of them.

And banish from your thoughts a cheery, rosy-cheeked me surprising them with a yummy snack served up with fresh cut flowers in a bud vase gracing the tray. No. We're talkin frustration and aggravation and a host of insoluble problems. Problems that run way deep.

But here's the thing. I have never had children. And, chances are I will never have children. Having children is a sacrifice. Such a sacrifice. For about sixteen years at least, you put your entire life on hold. But what you get out of it (besides ungrateful offspring) is a sense of being responsible. And an adult. And a knowledge of what love is that you didn't have during all those years that you were bandying that term around. I'm getting off sort of easy. It won't be sixteen years. At least I hope not. And Bucks County is not a bad place to spend time. (You should see the way hot bottom man I ran across on WorldLeathermen... the Philadelphia-dwelling way hot bottom man I ran across on WorldLeathermen. It will be fine in that department.)

It will be fine.

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