The Ceiling Light

My dad loves to color pictures for me.

But not just any pictures.

He only colors pictures of Jesus.

They come from those special water-reveal Bible coloring books where you brush water across the page and the colors appear like magic. He doesn’t have to choose colors or worry about staying inside the lines. He just brushes the water across the page and suddenly the picture comes to life.

And every time he finishes one, he hands it to me like it belongs in a museum.

Then he proudly points to the corner.

His initials.

Just in case anyone forgets who the artist is.

There’s just one problem.

According to my dad… he can’t color in the dark.

So almost every time we visit, he asks the same question:

“Can someone come fix that ceiling light?”

Now here’s the funny part.

The ceiling light actually did stop working a few weeks ago. They kindly told us about it once.

Just once.

But life has been busy. Between grandchildren and caring for my dad, our house sometimes feels like we are running two full programs:

Grandchild Daycare

and

Dad Daycare.

Somehow the ceiling light slipped down the priority list.

But not for my dad.

Every time he sits down to color…

he remembers.

And he reminds us.

Apparently we have been ignoring this repair request for years.

You can hear it in his voice now. Not anger — just the weariness of a man who feels like he has been politely requesting the same repair for a very long time.

The most impressive part?

His timing.

He doesn’t ask randomly.

He waits until the exact moment someone sits down… relaxes… takes a sip of coffee…

and then he says it.

“About that ceiling light…”

Then there is the repair timeline, according to my dad.

The repair must happen immediately when he thinks of it.

Which, for reasons only known to him, is usually around 9:00 at night.

During work hours.

At his earliest convenience.

Which of course… cannot actually happen.

We work during the day.

And weekends?

Weekends are apparently not available because those are already booked with grandchildren and senior day programs.

So guess who gets to hear about the ceiling light all day long?

Henrietta.

And let me tell you… her feathers are getting ruffled.

From Henrietta’s perspective, she has tried everything.

She leaves puzzles on the table.

She suggests other activities.

She pulls out different brain-stimulating games.

She ignores, she shares rational.

But nope.

None of that matters.

Because in my dad’s mind, he has a very clear purpose in life right now.

Coloring pictures of Jesus.

Specifically one thousand of them.

For me.

Finally, after another full day of hearing about the ceiling light, Henrietta issued a formal statement.

She said if the light wasn’t fixed soon, she was sending him to spend the night with us.

And we could bring him back…

only after the light was repaired.

Then she added:

“You can take as long as you want too.”

Which, if you know Henrietta, was not a suggestion.

So the light finally got fixed.

The next day he sat down to color, dipped his brush in water, started working on his Jesus picture, looked up at the ceiling and said,

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Apparently we just needed several years of reminders.

And as he looked up at the ceiling that afternoon he added one final comment:

“A man needs light to see, Henrietta.”

And just like that…

the Jesus art studio reopened.

From my perspective as the caregiver, life right now feels a little like living in the middle of three generations at once.

Technically they call this the sandwich generation — caring for aging parents while supporting the next generation.

But in our case, our children are grown. The grandbabies come to us because we love having them here. As often as we can manage, our home turns into a mix of grandchild adventures and senior care.

Some days it feels like we are running two completely different programs under one roof.

One for little feet running through the house — toys scattered everywhere, fingerprints on every surface, laughter, tears, and tiny voices making their demands… sometimes all at once.

And if I’m being honest, I’m right there with them — laughing, crying, and making a few demands of my own.

and one for slower steps navigating memory loss.

We can’t always do everything perfectly.

Sometimes the ceiling light takes a few weeks to get fixed.

Sometimes we are simply exhausted.

But we try our best.

Because when three generations gather in one place, messy schedules and all, there is still something beautiful happening in the middle of it.

Don't forget to make time for yourself caregivers! Sending Love!