Elisa Anne Allio

I release the parking brake, back up slightly, and then turn away from my parents' house and down spruce ave. In the mirror I catch a glance of my mom talking over the fence and across the driveway with Doris. My dad remains in front of us and he is waving goodbye. I offer a weak smile because that is all I have left and focus on the road. One I could drive in my sleep. We get to the bend in the road and Yang starts to cry and she is not the type that cries easily as far as I know. Aidan in the back seat says "mom, are you crying?" to which there is no response. We just keep driving. Aidan repeats his question a couple of times and Yang tells him in Chinese, "no problem". Aidan understands what's going on and starts to cry a bit too. Elisa, ever learning from her big brother joins quietly. Lydia remains silent as is the car except for the numbing beat of sports talk radio. We stop for Mexican takeout.

Elisa is young enough not to want to do what she doesn't want to do and old enough to understand that sometimes you need to do things you don't want to do. The difference between needing and caring, perhaps. When we first stopped by my parents after landing Elisa didn't want to stay very long. And when she was there she wanted to be in the yard playing. On the second day she was with me and the other kids in the TV room when she said to me, "I want to see your mom". So I picked her up and we walked to the living room. I sat in the red chair directly opposite my parents. In between us was a hospice worker who was patiently getting my mom's medication list and plan. To my right were my brother's Jim and Don who came up to listen in and provide assistance. Elisa sat in my lap and just looked at my mom out of one eye. After 15 minutes I asked her if she wanted to go and she said no. So we sat for a bit longer. When we did get up, we went into the kitchen and Elisa took me to the refrigerator. On the refrigerator are pictures of family and friends that my parents have arranged over time. Elisa grabbed my finger and pulled it towards a picture of my mom on the refrigerator. Over and over again until I touched them all.

The Saturday birthday party came and went. The Sunday lunch came and went. The Monday small birthday party for Lydia and Elisa came and went. Then it was the Tuesday morning stop by on the way to the airport. Not sure when my kids will see my parents again. Aidan and Lydia knew the deal and took the pictures. Elisa would not stand next to my dad or my mom. Reluctantly she stood to the far edge of the photo next to Aidan. She was pleased to go onto the deck and play with Aidan while the adults talked in the living room.

The talk was fairly typical for a visit with my parents. Two phone calls. A light bulb change. A short burb of humor from my dad. A long winding story from my mom ending with how the bill was paid at a meal. And then it was time to go. Which meant getting the kids in for one more round of hugs. This time the caring side of Elisa came and she hugged my mom who was sitting in the same red chair I was with Elisa a couple of days prior.

And then we left. Just left. With heavy hearts somewhere between needing and caring.