For years Dad didn’t say he wanted to go to Scotland and England. But you could hear it in his voice when he talked to friends just back from London. And we had a lot of friends from England so these moments were frequent.
Then his sister went to Scotland to visit the family members she’d discovered still lived there. Their mother was from Glasgow and a sizeable number of relatives still lived there. Dad started to mention, now and then, it would be a great trip to take after he’d retired, of course.
When he stopped teaching he was asked to continue on with the school board in the position of consultant. It 
was his chance to establish full theatre arts programs in the Separate Schools of Edmonton. This was the fulfilment of a dream of his ever since being forced to leave the country for his drama degree because nothing like it existed here.
Mom took a German course, just for the hell of it, and, at 75 took her first trip to Europe. It was with the class and without Dad.
That was when Dad started talking about maybe taking a trip to England and Scotland. You could hear it in his 
voice, the chance to see all the pilgrimage sights of the London West End, the Globe and even a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. The Theatre Arts programs were going well now and there were people who could step into his position and keep it going.
Then his heart problems began. It took a few years to get the whole thing straightened out and his medications tweaked. By the time the School Board finally cut him loose, he was back in fighting trim and looking better than ever.
But it was somewhere between the heart problems and his retirement that macular degeneration started to steal Mom’s sight.
She didn’t take it very well. Just after Dad’s retirement and part-way through the Edmonton Fringe Festival play
Dad was in, Mom graduated from depression to full blown psychosis. It was Dad’s turn to take care of Mom.
Uninterrupted care for a dependent partner, especially one in the depths of a depression fueled dementia, exacts an enormous price on the care giver. It sucks the joy out of life, a frost stealing heat from everything it touches. A mortal price, in Dad’s case.
Every day in Glasgow, in London I cried at least once.
