Friday, April 23, 2010

Eighty Nine

That's how old my papa is today.
We were hoping to be there--we were supposed to assemble with my brother the hedge fund robber baron and his family, who for once were going to make the mighty trek from Brooklyn Heights to the Bronx to go out to dinner with us as a family.
But it was not to be. Dad is having breathing problems again. Hey, with COPD, congestive heart failure and a few other dillies, it's to be expected. And it (hopefully) should be just the bad, bad pollens that are making us all miserable.

He spent most of the winter in the hospital and in a nursing home for rehab--something he especially hated. The one bright spot was he missed most of the bad weather he hates--though there's no way he'd ever leave it for Florida winters. He's a Bronx boy, born and bred. Aside from a brief period during WWII he's never lived anywhere else.
We'll hopefully go and visit in a few weeks--we can celebrate my mom's birthday as well. If my brother and his family don't come, Dad will be disappointed, but the ones I really will feel sorry for are my niece and my nephews. They have terrific grandparents and they barely know them.
I'm glad my girls have gotten to know and love all 4 of their grandparents. I am so grateful that they HAD 4 grandparents for so long.
Here's hoping Dad will be with us for birthday 90. And 91...And 92...And.....

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