Although I got home from working at 1740 around two am, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed at seven the next morning. I wanted to make sure I had my father's breakfast fixed by the time he woke up. He used to be on a farmer's internal clock, and rose when the sun did. But lately, he'd been sleeping later and later. Sometimes he was hard to rouse. I tried not thinking about how the neurologist had warned this might happen when the diaphragm grew even weaker.
Because Daddy hadn't had much of an appetite lately, I decided to make his favorite breakfast of homemade blueberry pancakes. Susie had stopped at the farmer's market the day before and picked up fresh fruit and vegetables for us. Although she didn't say it, I knew she wanted to save me the humiliation of going into town. Now
