It's the Small Gestures to Hang On To, To File Away, To Cherish in the Demented Days of Aging & Progressing. Papa Butch for the Win

Mom needed bloodwork done, so the orders were in place, the organization arranged, and the strategies mapped. I was to drive and help her down the stairs and he was to take the machines she needed down to the foyer, so we could unplug the one from upstairs and realign herself as she headed towards my car.

Nope. Dad brought her goods out to a chair on the front porch and then proceeded to see that the garbage had come, and he needed to bring up everyone's bins to their front doors (a ritual that is probably five years old now). I catch my mother frustrated in the foyer and bring her the bags she needed, all while she's cursing "Butch" under her breath. 

We get to the car without incident. The wheelchair fit nicely in the back seat of the hulk and finding a way into the front seat wasn't as tricky as she thought. We had the air conditioning cranking and once in, it was time to take off. 

We couldn't, however. I look down the street and I see my father waving his arms for us to wait. "Maybe he wants to come with you, Mom," I said while we waited for him to eventually make it to the car. "What's that in his hand?"

As he walked up to the car he asked my mom to roll down the window. He proceeded to hand her a small shrub of flowers. "I picked these for you," he said. "Have a good appointment."

I told my Mom I was getting a photo...some things are too precious not to record. I needed a photo. I got one, and I knew this is what I'd write about this morning. 

According to my phone it is European Centaury. Beautiful gesture and beautiful day.