A penny for...

My parents visited me recently. Sometimes, I saw my Dad just sitting on the sofa staring off into the distance through the large windows. I don't think he was looking at anything in particular. I do know that he was deep in thought. When he gets that way, I find myself overwhelmed with a whole lot of thoughts myself. I also feel sadness inside that I have trouble defining.

What's he's really thinking about? I have no idea. I have posed that question to him a few times. Each time, he turns towards me and flashes a warm, slightly guilty looking smile. He shakes his head and says, "No. Nothing. I'm not thinking about anything."

His response makes me feel somewhat less melancholy. I feel good about myself for having asked him to tell me what he seems to be preoccupied with. I let him know, in my own way, that I gave a damn. That I wanted to share his concerns if he so wanted it.

His response also makes me feel just a bit more sad. I don't know why. Why does the act of my parents gazing away into the emptiness make me sad? For all I know, they're probably happy and contented - now that my Dad's been semi-retired for a while now, and my Mom doesn't have young kids to look after. They have a lot more free time on their hands. Time enough for them to sit down and relax, watch TV, read their favorite books, travel a bit, do yoga every morning and go meet friends and family similarly unburdened with looking after thankless offspring 24/7.

Maybe.

Still. I can't seem to get over the sadness I feel. Especially when all they tell me is that it's nothing at all. Perhaps it's because their visit was too short and I wanted to spend more time with them. Perhaps it's because they're looking visibly older and more vulnerable with each passing year. Perhaps it's because of the guilt I feel for having left them back home by themselves - for not being around in their old age when they probably need me the most. Or perhaps seeing them deep in thought makes me feel that they're feeling the weight of many worries. Worries that I should have been able to ease somewhat by now but I have failed to do so. Perhaps it's all of these reasons put together. And I want to do something about it - if I only knew what.

My Dad saw me sitting quietly staring away into nothingness one evening. He asked me what I was thinking about. The irony didn't escape me. I took a couple of seconds to compose myself before I turned around to face him. I knew what to say - I had been learning from him apparently.