TW - Illness

Pa was almost always at the lake. His fishing rod was practically an extension of his arm. He'd go out when the sky just started to lighten and then he'd sit there with his little radio until the sky was full of stars.

Overtime the dock became worn from the constant use and its dark vibrant wood grew dull and faded.

Mom, however, didn't like the summer. She hated bugs, especially flying ones. Her worst fear was being stung or bit by one of them.

She stayed inside while Pa, Maria and I were out at the lake having fun. One time we tried dragging her outside with us but she locked her legs around her rocking chair, holding herself down and just kept on knitting, completely unfazed by our struggling.

We eventually gave up and went to help Pa sort out his fishing equipment. I think that was the very same summer that Mom got sick. I guess if we'd tried again in a few weeks we could've gotten her up and taken her outside but I'm glad we didn't. She would've hated it.