The bus smells of whatever disinfectant is used in its bathroom. A child has been screaming for several miles. A couple is arguing furiously. Being home is never quite as wonderful as we thought it would be. My father has a black eye from his most recent fall.
Mom has back problems.
And so we worry about how they will continue to take care of themselves up here on the hill outside of Madison. The volunteer rescue squad makes regular visits. Everyone can find me on e-mail. I settle into the rhythm of my parents' days, the ritual of breakfast and newspaper, the televised sports, the trips to the dump. Once a week, Dad meets a group of other men for breakfast at the McDonald's.