Waiting has a certain pressure to it.
A physical heaviness which differs according to the outcome.
I'm a very patient person. I was always unsociably early until my late friend said it added to her anxiety of getting ready on time. I thought I was helping.
Now, I have narrowed my waiting time to a socially acceptable 10 minutes so I am well acquainted with the 'wait'.
But the weight of the wait can be excruciating. My situation with my dad right now is one of those times. Although in my head I feel okay, I ended up sleeping for three hours yesterday afternoon and again last night like a drugged person. My body is obviously feeling strain when I think I'm handling this fine. Body always trumps mind in these cases and today I was functioning better for the long sleep.
There was a British TV show years ago called 'Waiting for God' which was a comedy about a retired couple. I liked the title. It didn't mince words or soften it. The chap in the show was exactly like the title, he was brash, direct and told the ugly truth. Right now, I feel like I am in one of those episodes. Far-away from seeing for myself how my dad is doing and then I'm going through every possible thought about what I should or will be doing when the time comes.
In spite of the burden of the wait, I do believe in divine timing and some things can't be forced.
As I cancelled my few days booked through a hotel app, I wondered to the what, how and when of my road trip. I spent an hour staring over the paper atlas while my phone charged this afternoon. Looking at all the secondary roads, my high school geography kicked in for my understanding of the map. It looked much like the veins of a heart. I thought again about my dad and how his strong heart continues to beat even though his mind left us years ago, and now as his organs slow down.
Now, as I write this under the torch light thanks to a 11 hour power cut, I think about how trivial life can be in the greater scheme of things.
The wait for power.
The wait for death.
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