Late-night phone calls are never good

When my phone rings late at night, I always brace myself for the worst.

This time it was my dad’s neighbor on the line, and then the words I never wanted to hear. “Your dad’s been taken to the hospital.”

Many phone calls and a sleepless night later, and I will soon be on my way to Arkansas. Since nobody could (or would) tell me what is going on, I decided it was best that I finish up what work I can and plan to be out the rest of the week and head up there to see him. Yeah, I’m procrastinating, but I just don’t know whether or not I should go. What if I get up there and nothing is wrong after all? I’m told I tend to overreact.

Everyone I talked to up there said to just wait, but what if I do and then it’s too late? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Ugh. A couple more days and I would have been taking the kids up there for a short visit before Thanksgiving.

My kids don’t want to go with me today. They are too scared. “I don’t want to see him like that,” Fiona said. “Please tell him I love him.” Simon, as usual, was silent and stoic. He said he would take care of things at home while I was gone.

Well, here I am, about to embark on a journey into the unknown.

I’m scared, too.

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