13 September 2013

storm & sun

Emotional hangover. That's what I call this.

Austen wakes in the wee hours, before we see the first hints of sunlight creep through the bedroom shades. I leave her room, hardly able to keep my eyes open. But when I return to bed, pull the sheets and the comforter up to my chin, releasing the sigh that means I'm settling in, sleep still doesn't come.

My Dad had a heart attack on Monday. A hundred and one little miracles later, and he's still with us.

If just one little thing had gone differently that day ...

But it didn't. It didn't, I remind myself, attempting to avoid long, imaginative trips into a nightmarish might-have-been. It is what it is (sedation, wait-and-see, we don't know yet), but those short forays into the hypothetical nightmare remind me to fall on my knees thankful for this limbo.

And here I am, over three thousand miles away. I could do no more were that geographical gap closed, and yet the knowledge that he's far away in a hospital bed has me searching airfares, considering any and all means of traversing the distance between us.

I fell apart last night, thinking of how I want him to get better, of how I wanted him to wake up so I could hear the laugh that I could identify blindfolded out of a thousand laughs in a crowded room. I thought of how the last thing I talked to him about was our malfunctioning fridge, leaking water all over our kitchen floor. Did I tell him I loved him before I hung up?

So it's early, and these tears prick, this lump hurts my throat. Driving home yesterday, I saw dark and ominous storm clouds on the horizon and right in the midst of them, those illuminated by the sun, shafts of light boldly piercing through the spaces between the bulbous tufts of white.

Yes, I thought. This is what this is: the storm and the sunlight, all in the same view.

* * * * *

Updates on Dad's recovery HERE


  1. Being far away is so hard when all you want to do is hug your family and be held in the presence of them. I will be praying for you and your family and I hope that you are able to go and sit with them and that your Dad's laughter will fill your ears soon.

  2. Love you, my friend. Still praying for you.

    Since KIrk's mom got sick, I've thought often of what it would be like if it were either of my parents, too far away for a quick packing of the car and road trip up to the next state. Being so far from family when tragedy strikes is so, so hard.

  3. I love you my friend. Praying still.

  4. So hard. Yet, you describe the difficulty with such beauty and brilliance. Praying for you. And your dad.