Around mid-morning today I answered the phone. It was my father, up in the Red River Valley of the north. He wanted to know if there was anything wrong, and if we'd tried to call him.
I assured him that we were okay, focusing, for some reason, on Sprocket the dog and Giol the rabbit. I also assured him that, to the best of my knowledge, nobody here had tried to call him.
He was reassured. It's not easy, the situation he's in. He described it as 'driving around in a car I don't own, looking for my wife - going to a house where I don't live.' That's a paraphrase. I can't remember the exact words.
We didn't talk for long. His lungs are barely adequate for getting oxygen into him when he stays quite still. Talking is a bit like running a marathon, in terms of exertion.
I'm glad he called, though.
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