My father and his girlfriend left this morning after almost a week. They made the 15 hour drive from Ontario to New Brunswick on Thursday, on a mission to meet their new grandson.
They are both great to have around, but those two sentences you've just read set the stage for a buttload of irony.
#1. Father's girlfriend. I should say fiancee, because there is one of those shiny rings involved. Even so, the terms "girlfriend" and "fiancee" make theirs sound like a new-ish relationship. "Girlfriend" was at my grade 8 graduation (I'm 33). I've told my father on more than one occasion that with his sense of pacing, we should have the wedding right before the wake.
#2. My father drives a lot. He works in the oilfields of Western Canada and spends more time in a vehicle than anyone I know, excepting only long-haul truckers. The 15 hours to get to my front door were taken entirely in stride. However, Mr. Hammy's parents live 1.5 hours from us and constantly lament how far away we are.
#3. Related to #1, Dad's girlfriend - C - is overjoyed about her grandson. She's 42.
Dad, being of the old-school fathers, held Hamlet twice and said insightful, emotional things like "Woo! He's a load isn't he?" He also cut down 8 trees in my backyard, fixed the steps on the deck, replaced the shed doors, and relentlessly stalked the dandelions in my yard. Love has many different shapes.
C kept us fed, played with Hamlet, changed his diaper, helped with his bath, and took his picture. She also got some well-deserved rest - reading and watching TV. She has her own business and travels a lot; we were glad to give here a space where she could be "unavailable" for a few days.
I hate watching my family leave. Crying before breakfast is never a good way to start your day.