[originally posted April 1 2012, 10:51 AM]
My father returned from military duty in post-war Japan and moved to St. Elmo to join his older brothers in the working world. There he met a lovely young woman named Iris who was working behind the soda fountain in the local drugstore. The first time they met, he asked her to make a peanut butter milkshake. It was the best milkshake ever.
Because he has dementia, I hear some of these stories quite often and they have taken on iconic meaning. Every time he points to the high school graduation photo of my mother on his dresser, he reminds me of the peanut butter milkshake.
So when we decided to visit his home in St. Elmo this weekend for what may be one of the last times in my father's life, we decided to keep it simple. We would visit his house, go to the cemetery to see my mother's grave, and invite his sister Alyce to come and meet with us there. That would be enough.
My brother and sister and I had worried that taking dad from the nursing home back to visit his house would stir up his old desire to just move back Home Alone. We figured we would have to listen to pleadings that he knew how to drive, had dozens of neighbors who could help out, and just needed to get back home to Take Care of Things.
It turns out our fears were unjustified. The weather was beautiful, we were all in a great mood, we ran into other family and friends, and enjoyed a delightful walk among the wildflowers at nearby Ballard Nature Center. He did not beg to stay home.
Mid-afternoon, I had an idea. We stopped at the Altamont Dairy Bar for a commemorative peanut butter shake. Not wanting to spoil our supper (planned for the delightful Firefly Grill in Effingham), we asked for 6 straws and one shake. It was delicious. We hadn't really planned on the peanut butter shake. Not everyone wanted a sip. There was plenty to go around. It was even better for being shared.
The day was a success in every way. And it was the second best milkshake ever.