While my sister works with the hospital staff to provide an appropriate level of familiar homestyle comfort and care, including a bath and shave, I work with my mother at home to give her a sense of normalcy.

Raking the yard.  Bagging leaves.  Moving a car from one driveway to the other to make room for out-of-town visitors.

Taking the rubbish and recycling bins to the curb and rolling them back to the house after the sanitation crew swings by.

Reading the newspaper while seated in my father’s captain’s chair. Drinking coffee that Mom brewed.  Eating a sausage biscuit she bought.

Scanning through dozens of paper and web pages on symptoms associated with syndromes like ALS.

Remembering other motorsports venues and events my father and I attended… sitting in turn 4 of the Bristol Motor Speedway, watching Richard Petty’s battered car go around the half-mile track for the last time; watching IndyCars spin around Charlotte Motor Speedway like toy models on a Hot Wheels track; walking around the MidOhio race course, watching a variety of cars race through hairpin turns, admiring TR3s and other cars of Dad’s youth/young adulthood; local dirt/asphalt/concrete tracks from Kingsport to Bulls Gap to SW Virginia to south Florida and points in-between the points where drivers and owners make points.

My sister called.  Dad is getting more and more frustrated in his hospital room, either unable to speak or refusing to, using hand and other body gestures to describe what he wants RIGHT NOW.

Time to walk away from the computer and attend to Dad’s needs.

Family first — the rest of the world can and will wait.