My dad has had some sort of blue bathrobe for as long as I can remember. I've bought new ones, it was a staple of Sunday mornings.
A few weeks ago, I brought home a basket full of towels, some sheets, and my dad's bathrobes.
I am having a hard time parting with them. Almost as hard as getting rid of the house.
In 1992, my dad found out I was pregnant, and I came home and he was in his bathrobe, sitting in the brown chair we had in the living room. The floor lamp was clicked to its first click.
That night my dad told me that he would stand behind whatever decision I decided to make. No matter what saying he'd always be proud of me. But he hoped that the decision would be that I would keep my child.
And years later (like 30 because SHE'S OLD! HAHA) he'd say that the best gift I ever gave him was her.
Years later, breakfasts made, breakfasts eaten together.
Trips to hospital and we'd bring one of the bathrobes so that when he'd go to the hospital and wonder the hallways, looking for fresh meat to tell jokes... "Marg - can you bring my bathrobe"
Or years after he'd have a surgery we'd bring the robe so he could be warm and have a sense of home. The things my dad recovered from. The strokes, the heart attacks. Strong men would have crumbled.
I'm going to donate them to an inpatient physical therapy rehab facility.
May they be the cap that brings others strength.
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