The luck of the Irish

I watched Maureen's dad roll her suitcases out of the lobby on a cart.  I had seen him off and on when he came to town to visit his daughter on the unit. 

I knew he recognized me, even though we had never spoken in all these months.  He seemed aloof on his visits, so I never approached him.  I’m better with other moms anyway.

"Are you taking Maureen home today?" I asked him, wanting to acknowledge this important day.  Her discharge date had been pushed back several times.  "You must be thrilled," I continued.

"Yes, she's been smiling all morning," he replied.

"Good luck," I said, as I turned to go. 

"Good luck to you, too," he replied as I walked away.

Luck, yes, that’s what we both need.  Luck, and a really good behavioral intervention plan.