Streets of Philadelphia

I took my father to his eye appointment in Philadelphia today. We've been back probably a half a dozen times since his surgery two years ago, but this time was different. Bittersweet. It was the first time we've made the trip since my mother died.

The first time - just the two of us.

Ever since our first visit, I've felt comfortable there for some reason. I work in downtown Baltimore every day and generally can't get to my car fast enough to make my way home in the afternoon. I've never felt that way about Philly. Part of it's novelty and part of it's the fact that I don't have to venture into the less desirable sections of the city, but there's something more fundamentally different. Despite the circumstances, I've always looked forward to the trip. But today, again, that enthusiasm was tempered.

We were there just six months ago. It's crazy to think how different my life was then. Not just because of my mom's death, either.

Today had me unlocking all the memories I've tied up in Philly trips - my dad's diagnosis and surgery, visiting every day for a week when he had to stay in the hospital for radiation, coming home that week and having the best chat about life and love with a friend in Texas until 6 a.m. - long after others called it a night, finding the "best wings in Philly" and how they'd later prove useful after dropping a grand at Morimoto, sitting for hours in waiting rooms with my mom, those phone calls in the lobby that used to help pass the time...

Different.