Returning

I did finally get on a plane yesterday.  Bittersweet.  Tearful goodbye at the care facility.  My father was in very good spirits, in much less pain.  His teeth were in which made him more recognizable.  I held his hand, stroked his head, and noticed the crown of gray hair that had shed on his pillowcase during the night.  "I'm going back to Los Angeles tonight."  "Hmmm, change of plans."  "Yes, I need to go home and take care of things."  He didn't give me a hard time, or resist.  He told me he loved me, thanked me, and than asked about the vintage car parked at the curb at the edge of the bed.  "Is it yours?"   I played along.  "Yes, it's a '69 Mercedes."  Hard not to think about the circumstances that will prompt my return.  For now, I'm staying in the moment.