My dad was the seventh son in his family.  He ended up being the one who took care of his mother when she was old.  I watched him do it, and learned about caring for someone, without thinking that someday I might need to take care of him.  

But that's how it turned out.  Mom died years before he did, and when Ken and I built the house out in Oakwood Acres, I got to design the plans and built a bedroom with an outside entrance to the back patio so he could come live with us, and still feel independent.

I remember one night I heard him rustling around and went to check on him, and he was getting dressed.  "Where are you going in the dark," I asked him?  

"I have to go get a job. I have to go to work," he said.  "Somebody has to pay for all of this."  He was 94 years old, still trying to take care of everything and everyone.

He was such a good man.  I was blessed.