My dad was discharged from the rehab facility he stayed in for about a month and into at-home hospice on March 19. Meanwhile, my peers are working through daycare complications and babies with their first colds! I know that there’s no timeline for life, but I just feel like I leapfrogged past where I thought I would be.

We picked up my dad from St. Joseph’s at 9:00 a.m. and then met with the hospice care team at 10:00 a.m. at my parents’ house.

Every time we visited my dad at rehab, he asked when we were going to take him home. It’s not a restful place; the staff are overworked and, I’m sure, underpaid. The result is a lot of noise, beeping, and very little attention. I stood with him, waiting for my mom to pull the car around and just took in the moment. The small, fleeting moment between the last phase and the next step. A moment of freedom.

I cried a lot the day we brought my dad home and I felt like it was evident the day after. We’d been through a little bit of a marathon for the previous six weeks with him in the hospital and then rehab. Now, at home with hospice in place and caregivers coming daily, I think we could finally all catch our breath. I have no issues crying, and I never have. I have learned not to bother with mascara for right now.