Jim Hughes

When Mom died, I didn’t have a clue how to help Dad. In retrospect, what we faced was building a new relationship, and it was awkward for both of us.

Mom was the glue that held everything together. When we were all together, Mom was the conversationalist. We could (and would) talk for hours. Dad would mostly listen, or busy himself with doing some chore. Dad was always more of a doer than a talker.

So Dad and I got started navigating that first year without Mom by having weekly lunches. Most of the time, we’d meet at Sandy McGee’s in Sugar Land. We’d put in our order, get a basket of the deliciously crunchy toasted bread pieces, and start talking. I’d catch him up on what was going on with us and the kids, and he’d tell me a little about what he was doing.

Sometimes he’d tell me about how blessed his 60 years and 10 days married to Mom were. Sometimes he’d talk about the future. Often times we’d struggle to find a common subject, but we didn’t quit trying. And it was during this time that I first discovered that Dad didn’t have a feeling vocabulary. He couldn’t talk about how he felt.

Little did I know, though, that the time invested in these weekly visits would form a foundation for being able to help him a few years later when he really needed it.

Yesterday, on the day I made a court appearance to begin probating his will, I had lunch at Sandy McGee’s in Richmond (the Sugar Land location closed years ago). The crunchy toast, the familiar menu, and the taste of a mushroom cheeseburger brought the memories of those lunches with Dad flooding back, the feelings of love and respect, and the feeling of awkwardness.

Here are a few photos from yesterday that are processed to show something of how I was seeing and feeling during lunch.

The Contrast of Past and Present

The Menu

Photos: iPhone 4S, processed with SnapSeed for iPad