Making my Dad's drinks

When I was a kid who was choosy with her food, my Dad used to entice me into eating by "decorating" the edges of my dinner plate. He would place morsels of food around my rice, such as fried chicken or fish. And I would enjoy looking at my decorated plate (if there was online social media then, I would have uploaded pix everyday!). He would coax me into eating each morsel with rice, until I finish off the whole thing.

Today, sometimes I am the one on duty at home, preparing my Dad's 24-hour milk supply for his tummy peg. Carefully weighing the powdered milk, making sure it is exactly 170 grams for each of two bottles, ready for the blender machine. Just as my Dad made sure that the food on my plate was to my liking, as a kid.

Dad's almost immobile in bed now, his 89-year-old body a shadow of his former self, his memory of us but a flicker, if at all. But, thank God, he is still with us despite the circumstances. He is the youngest among nine siblings, his brothers and sisters long gone. He was a salesperson, he was a musician, he was a great tennis player, he was an expert in public relations (he knew everybody and everybody knew him, calling him 'Tay that was short for "uncle" in our province's dialect), he was a fisher (he loved the seas), he was a writer.

I cannot think of an ending for this little pondering of mine now. Maybe because I do not want it to end, just yet :)