Decompose

We had been with my daughter and her family for three weeks, helping them through the adjustment of adding newborn Caleb to their existing children, two-year-old Josiah and three-year-old Hannah. In addition, we had spent several days packing and hauling boxes as they moved to Missoula, Montana, from Seeley Lake, about an hour away.

We were exhausted as we began our drive back to the Seeley Lake house, the car quiet now that the young family was settled enough in Missoula to spend a first night in their new place. I offered to drive.

“No, thanks,” said George. “I need to drive for a while to decompose.”

“Umm…decompress?”

He thought for a moment. “What is it you do when you die?” he asked.

“Decompose,” I said.

“I meant the other word, but maybe decompose is more like it.”

It’s said that when children are born, they come out with a third of their mother’s brain clutched in their tiny hands. There’s no doubt I lost some chunks of gray matter at the births of my children. Apparently, the brains of grandparents are also at risk, simply by spending time with the little people. So, yes, decompose is the word.