Here are things a father-in-law might do, if he were good and kind and righteous and going beyond the call of duty:
* find a giant man truck with a horse like trailer to borrow for our move
* make three mega all day trips to Owasso to pack and load aforementioned giant man truck trailer
* spend hours late into the night unloading the truck and trailer (ibid.)
* lift and shift and squat and move and bend more weight than I could ever crunch at the gym
* work himself into exhaustion only so that his son’s family could move close enough to bother him daily
* spend hours taking apart bunk beds for children that are not ours, and then spend hours putting them back together again even though the children are leaving next week (we found out today)
* garage freezers. No words.
* ensure his daughter-in-law’s china cabinet handed down from her grandmother’s grandfather made it with all the curved glass intact
* working in the cold long past losing feeling in his hands and feet, and feeling way too much pain everywhere else
* never moving only what we asked, but also moving everything else he could lift (with help or not), and then still working more to fill every single empty space he could find, working the giant man truck trailer like a 3D math puzzle
* being nice the whole time, no matter how hard he had worked or how hungry he got (I am not nice when I am hungry)
* never complaining about us dooming ourselves with so much stuff, even when it is foolishness like Nathan’s headless chickens and my mother’s things and too much stuff for too many kids that are not even ours or more food than even a family of eight could eat in a year.
That’s a lot of love.
It’s the kind of love that only comes from a really good father-in-law.
A new light bulb screwed into the front porch light when no one is looking, quietly taking care of us when no one is paying attention, keeping us tucked in safely and warmly and cozy-ly?
That’s the kind of love that only comes from a dad.
And it’s a whole lot of love.