On the last day of our NoDak trip, the day that was our longest driving day by far, both Maggie and my dad got sick. It wasn’t pretty and nobody really enjoyed it, but we got through it. Before we realized that Maggie was going to be a bit of a puke-bucket, I banished my dad from my car because I didn’t want him to pass whatever he had on to Maggie. Of course, a few hours later she decided to puke out whatever was in her stomach all over the backseat. It wasn’t very traumatic because after she puked, she was all smiles and giggles. I blame the sprouts from The Montana Club, but that’s another story.
Since my dad was shunned from our car, the only other option was to hunker down in the back seat of my grandparent’s car and hope to ride out his sickness because the other two cars were already in other states. Seeing his bobbing little head in the back seat peeking out of the window with a blanket pulled to his chin made him seem like a little kid all over again. Truthfully, I feel like I got a pretty clear snapshot of him as a kid and my grandparents as parents to their sick kid in the back seat. My grandma worried while my grandpa’s lead foot helped get them closer to home.
Being sick is plain awful no matter which way you cut it. I know that when I’m sick just hearing the voices of my parents makes me feel better, even if they’re just telling me to get some rest and drink lots of fluids. I also know that when Maggie feels badly, I’m the one that she wants and I’m the one to make her feel better. More often than not she just wants to be held and I’m more than happy to wrap my arms around her. Strangely, as our caravan moved closer to home at the end of our journey, I couldn’t help but wonder if my dad found the same comfort in having his own parents near by. Do we ever really grow up?
