K-Pop blares behind me. An attempt at distraction.
Not far from here someone is cracking my father’s chest in an attempt to keep him healthy. And while I know this, the trying to keep him healthy part, I am fixated instead on his chest. Fixated on the heart they will slice into. The one that has loved me since before I was born.
I wish I was resolute in faith enough to embrace the full-throated hubris that knows everything will be ok but...he’s my daddy. Even in my middle-age he is still my daddy. Even the possibility of a world without him in it throws me off kilter.
He, of course, is a man of faith and logic. He understands that worrying and projecting won’t change anything, what is written for him is written for him. So these past few weeks he’s been his usual silly, funny, balanced self.
I know he’s right. I know. And yet…
Tomorrow I have a job interview and I asked the person scheduling if we could delay a little. Told her my dad would be coming out of surgery and still in ICU. She was resolute – they have needs and I am not the only potential solutions to them.
The world keeps turning even as mine slows... as I wait for news that my father --whose face I wear, who smells of Speedstick, who makes the best cheese toast I’ve ever tasted, who sharpens my knives “just cuz” when he putzes around my kitchen-- is recovering well. The world keeps spinning full speed even as I try to find my balance and catch my breath.
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