Skip to main content

Chocolate heart

My dad gave me a chocolate heart the other day. I haven't eaten, just carried it around with me in my pocket. It's gotten a little worn in places, silver shining through the red foil. I like it think it makes it look cared for instead of neglected.

My aunt, my dad's only sibling, often sends him care packages. It's an immensely kind way to show that she's thinking of him and to try and bring him joy--not an easy feat these days. She ships them to me and I walk them over to my father's care home and help him open them. They're usually filled with sweets, especially chocolates, small toys, and puzzles for the mind. I help him pile out the non-edibles and set them gently on his coffee table. He then starts to open the candies and try them out. Sometimes they are new or, perhaps, simply new to him at this stage in his life.

He often offers me some, but since I dutifully wear a mask around him, I usually decline. The mask helps protect him from anything I may carry--especially COVID--as his health is quite fragile--his memory even more so. It also helps keep my expression more neutral, which I sometimes find I need when I'm feeling more stressed or distressed while visiting him.

Yet I accepted this chocolate heart. I'm not sure why, maybe the simple shape of it and what a heart can symbolize moved me. Maybe I was just tired of telling my dad no, even in a kind way. Maybe I thought I'd want chocolate later.

Whatever the reason, I have been carrying this chocolate heart around for over a week and have done nothing other than gingerly touch it in my pocket from time to time. I removed it from my pocket when it got too warm and malformed. I let it sit on a table until it hardened again. I've moved it from the table to a kitchen counter to protect it from the dogs I'm caring for right now, both for their sake and for the heart's.

I know that I should eat it or just throw it out, but neither option appeals to me.

Perhaps I'll move it back into my pocket, to keep it safe and close, even if it becomes misshapen again.

(Prompt by me)



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

15 facts about my dad

Just been thinking about some lighthearted facts I know about my dad lately. When he was young, he had a goldfish named Lysander He introduced me to Star Trek At Christmas, he would tear up at It's a Wonderful Life He used to send me articles from his Yahoo email account that he thought I'd like We used to play a game called "Nightmare" where he would lie down and we'd jump around (and sometimes on) him He would clip possible recipes for us to try out of newspapers and magazines We bought him a Paddington Bear to take on trips because we feared he'd be lonely and he always took it He had teddy bears for three different holidays We once had such a hilariously difficult time building a gingerbread house that when some frosting ended up on the counter, I plopped a gumdrop on it and we laughed until we cried He and his sister were born about 11 months apart We would try recipes from Top Chef He kept gifts I made him, even when they weren't great At Christmas, ...

15 things you'll think about during your dad's latest hospital stay

This is meant to be a related piece to "15 things to do in your dad's hospital room," "15 Things You Find in Your Dad's Hospice Room," and "15 Things You Find When You Clean Out Your Dad’s Apartment" .  The Christmas lights at the nurse's station that should really have been switched for saccharine cupids by now What team decided to hang up a clearly labeled DRAFT safety sign Who comes up with the aliases they seem to use for trauma patients and how they decided on Redstone for your dad That his skin either looks like a bruised elephant or like sickeningly conflicting colors of thin paper mache Where you can possibly get food--you're shaky The patient in the ER somewhere with a lot of ammo, but no gun, or so they say Why the staff is being so happily loud and swearing...it feels discordant The used bandaid and gauze that are left on the floor of his ER room as he moves to his hospital room...the last proof he was there Having to do this a...

15 things to do in your dad's hospital room

This is meant to be a related piece to  "15 Things You Find in Your Dad's Hospice Room" and "15 Things You Find When You Clean Out Your Dad’s Apartment" . Tell yourself you can panic later (you'll likely never find the time to, but it'll help) Wear a mask because he's immunocompromised (and besides, you've been out trying to live a life which means you could've caught something) Turn on the Olympics because he can't use a remote anymore and no one has helped him (besides, it's always on these days and he at least used to enjoy it) Practice your sanitized answers to his questions (he won't remember them, but no need to alarm him about in his life, your life, or the world for even a moment) Try not to be in the way of the nurses (you'll fail) Sit on the bed because there is no where else to (and realize your arm is resting against his urine jug) Worry that his bed should be alarmed when he gets up to go to the bathroom (he make...