[by Samara]
I lived with Dad and Grandma for a year and a half while I was in grad school. Dad's house is a triplex—two two-bedroom apartments upstairs and a large, finished basement downstairs. Initially, I roomed with Grandma in her two bedroom apartment. It was pretty cute and I enjoyed it for several months. I had breakfast with Dad and Grandma most mornings. We had cocktail hour and backyard time often. But eventually, I needed some privacy. So, I moved downstairs to live among all of Dad's movies, collectibles, and random other "valuable" things he was saving to sell in the future.
I'll be honest, living there for that time period kind of drove me crazy. There wasn't much privacy. He came in all hours of the day and night. There were no boundaries. Most of us Litvacks are yellers by nature, so we had it out on multiple occasions. And living in my dad's basement at 30 years old wasn't exactly the life I'd pictured.
But I remember multiple occasions where I'd wake up to find flowers he'd brought down from his yard. Sometimes there would be ants all over the table and I'd get frustrated. Sometimes they'd trigger my allergies. But it was always thoughtful. I can't say I always saw it that way, but I'm grateful for that perspective looking back. And even though we struggled with boundaries, I love that memory.
As I've been searching for pictures of Dad over the last few weeks, I found this photo of two flowers he brought me during that time. What a gift, then and now.
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