One of the last things my father said to me, as I prepared to move to Seattle in 1985, was "You're never going to be normal, are you?"
A couple of years into the new century, when my brother ushered me into his presence at the nursing home, he greeted me with, "Barbara! Our first born." And then a whispered, "We always loved you best."
And I thought, I'll take that one, Dad. Read more about Oh My Papa