We've had more inquiries as to the reason for our roadtrip than I ever fathomed. Everyone is so nice here!
The gas station attendant wants to know why we're traveling and offers to walk mom out on his arm when he sees her slowly making her way through the store. The hotel manager gives free reign over the kitchen so I can warm up broth for mums. He also gives us a special rate without us even mentioning this ordeal.
I suppose that assuming strangers would extend an arm is slightly beyond my realm of imagination. This experience is proving me wrong. I shouldn't be so suspect. I've been more than grateful for all the assistance and positive thoughts thus far -- even from strangers. I'll blame it on those fiesty bodega owners near my old street in Brooklyn. Those guys live with a phone attached to one ear and care not when I -- clearly ill and in pajamas -- slip a package of expired cold medicine up to the counter and ask for something, er... more current. "No", they say. "This is it," and shove the expired medication back my way. Instead of walking two blocks further to another pharmacy where I'll likely stand in line for 25 minutes, I give up, buy the dusty old packet of pills and saunter off to pass out again in my bed after swallowing away overripened Nyquil.
We made it to Rochester safe and sound early this evening. The drive was quite boring (not much to look at in Kansas, Iowa or Minnesota), made better only by Twilight Zone Sirius Radio and Anthony Bourdain.
Mom is looking and feeling better, but still weak and having trouble getting around. She sat up, straight in her backseat chair, for today's ride -- quite a feat. Appetite is slowly returning. Who knew that my day would be so much better by watching my mom gulp down a peach yogurt?
I say, priorities change very quickly, don't they?
Hoping for news -- any news -- tomorrow.