On Monday evening, I ended up at an endodontist needing an emergency root canal after suffering five days with a tooth abscess (I kept hoping it could go away).

On Tuesday morning, before eight o’clock, I received a frantic phone call from my dad’s Board and Care facility.

Dad had gone missing again. (He had made a cunning escape–found a hidden key and exited through the emergency door. Can’t remember what day it is, but can figure out an escape route!)

Two hours later, a police man found him in the Wal-Mart in Pleasanton…about thirty minutes away from where he lives. Dad had walked up to the freeway and was picked up by a motorist. (Later, we found out it was two motorists. One dropped him off in Danville, the other took him to Pleasanton.)

Heart pounding, I zoomed down to the Wal-Mart, kept getting lost, but finally found it. (Once I located it, I felt pretty stupid. Wal-Mart’s are hard to miss; they take up a city block.)

Dad was sitting in the customer service room next to a gigantic police officer, happy to be found. The officer looked pretty happy that Dad was finally claimed, too.

My brother, Dave, called just as we got into the car. I told him that Dad was here, safe and sound. Rubbing my aching jaw, I also told him that I had just had a root canal.

“So, which do you prefer?” Dave asked.

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