Last one in

Here’s another story from my mother, Dorothy Howard Adler.

Mom told this story. A few nights ago Dad worked late. I was tired and was so sound asleep, I didn’t even hear him come home. What’s so unusual about that? Nothing really. I never had much trouble sleeping if he had to be out at night as I knew where he was and I could depend on him being back when he said he would.

After you children were old enough to be out without parental supervision, I very seldom slept until I heard the steps creek as the last one went upstairs. Even the winter Grandma came to live here and Dad and I slept in the front room, there was never a night I didn’t hear Theresa, no matter how quietly she came in.

One time Dad was staying nights at the hospital with Grandpa. I’d been about down with a cold; Theresa had been in the hospital only a few weeks before. The two older children had gone to a party. I didn’t expect them home until after 12, but they had assured me they would come by 11. Theresa and I went to sleep.* (Mother wrote up and down at the side of the page—I awakened around 11:30 or so and of course, started worrying.) About midnight the older ones came home with a very reasonable explanation.

However, they were told in the future if they did not call, Dad would come looking for them. And if he happened to be away as he was that night, a policeman would come. Fortunately, they didn’t test me. I was not making idle threats; someone would have come. I wonder when I go through the pearly gates, will I be able to rest until the last one is safely in.