Have you ever pretended something wasn’t real because facing it felt way too heavy for a random Tuesday?
Have you ever told yourself, “I’ll deal with this later,” and then later shows up early and uninvited?
Have you ever been laughing, eating pizza, living your life, and then one quiet moment sucker-punches you straight in the feelings?
Yeah. That was my day.
Today I drove to my parents’ house so they could watch my dogs while I head to AVNs for a week. Practical, convenient, efficient. They live on the way to Vegas, so in my head this was just a pit stop. Drop off dogs. Hug parents. Eat something. Leave.
Simple.
Spoiler alert. It was not simple.
Tofu, Biscuit, and I made the drive from LA, which should be an hour and change, but because this is California and we enjoy suffering, it turned into a full two-hour traffic journey. Tofu spent the entire drive wide awake. Not blinking. Not resting. Not relaxing. Just sitting upright, intensely people-watching like he was judging every car that passed us.
I have never seen a dog so committed to minding other people’s business.
He was exhausted. You could see it in his eyes. But he refused to sleep. What if something juicy happened? What if someone cut us off? What if a dramatic pedestrian moment occurred? Tofu was not about to miss content.
Biscuit, on the other hand, lasted about five minutes. Five. Out cold. Snoring. Fully surrendered to the nap gods.
As for me, I did what I always do in the car. I wrote jokes. The second I sit in the driver’s seat, my brain switches to comedy mode. That is my tradition. I write jokes. It does not sound like much, but trust me, comedy math is brutal. Writing jokes is like trying to squeeze humor out of your soul while it actively resists.
Joke writing is hard. Painfully hard. Some jokes are terrible. Some are embarrassing. Some make me question my life choices. But practice is practice. The more I write, the more I learn. Please be patient with me. I am trying.
We finally arrived at my parents’ house, and my mom ordered pizza from BJ’s. Meat pizza. The good kind. The kind that smells like comfort and childhood and forgiveness. I swear I ate half of it the moment it hit the table. Dipped in ranch, obviously, because ranch is not a condiment. It is a lifestyle.
I was full. Like spiritually fulfilled. The kind of full where you lean back and think, “This is why I wake up every day.”
My parents immediately started spoiling my dogs with pizza crust. I do not love that. I do not feed my dogs human food. I am that dog mom. But grandparents have different rules. Grandparents see rules as suggestions. So I let it go.
After dinner, my dad and I did what we always do. We watched a movie. Usually an action film. Explosions. Chaos. Something loud enough to distract us from life.
We sat on the couch, and that is when something shifted.
Tofu walked straight to my dad. No hesitation. No playfulness. No zoomies. He went right up to him and started crying. Not whining. Crying. Leaning into him. Kissing him. Pressing his little body against my dad like he was trying to merge souls.
This was not normal.
Tofu is usually goofy. Energetic. Chaotic. But today, he was gentle. Intentional. Emotional.
And then it hit me.
Two weeks ago, my dad was diagnosed with lung fibrosis. I knew that. I had heard the words. I nodded. I acknowledged it. And then I shoved it into a mental drawer labeled “I’ll deal with this later.”
Later arrived tonight in the form of a crying dog.
My dad was sitting there with his breathing machine on while we watched the movie. The soft sound of it filling the room. And the moment Tofu reacted, I knew. Tofu knew.
Dogs know.
They do not need medical charts or diagnoses. They do not need explanations. They feel it. They know when something is wrong. And watching my dog react to my dad in that way shattered the illusion I had built.
Reality kicked in.
My dad is getting older. My dad is sick. My dad is not invincible.
That realization hurt in a way I was not prepared for. It is a quiet kind of pain. The kind that sneaks up on you while you are still chewing pizza. The kind that makes your throat tighten without warning.
I am sad right now. I am scared. I am emotional. And I am angry at myself for pretending everything was fine when it was not.
But I am also grateful.
Grateful that I was there tonight. Grateful that I got to sit on that couch. Grateful that I got to watch a movie with him. Grateful that I noticed. Grateful that I did not rush through this visit like it was just another stop on the way to Vegas.
We do this thing as humans where we avoid pain by denying reality. We think ignoring something will protect us. But all it does is rob us of presence. It robs us of moments we cannot get back.
Seeing my dad like this reminded me how important time really is. How precious it is. How fragile it is.
I do not want regrets.
I do not want to look back and wish I had stayed longer, listened more, hugged tighter, showed up better.
So here is the lesson I am learning, and maybe you need it too.
Do not wait until reality forces you to feel something.
Do not deny what your heart already knows.
Do not assume you have more time than you do.
Call your parents.
Sit on the couch.
Watch the movie.
Eat the pizza.
Let the dogs cry if they need to.
Presence matters. Love matters. Showing up matters.
And sometimes the hardest truths are delivered by the quietest moments.
Remember you are my lovers, whether you love me or love to hate me you are still my lover!
Don’t forget Jesus loves you and so do I!