A 1,000 Mile Difference

 

 

This is the last week of my 20's and it has been as crazy and unpredictable as the decade I just lived through!  I have plans to spend two weeks with my family in California to celebrate the big transition into the 30's, so this week was very busy with work, to-do's, and the major ass-hauling of finals week!  As I'm about to buckle in and tackle the week ahead, I get a call from my brother to tell me about how he found my dad slouched over in the backyard, non-responsive with slurred speech and unable to move half his body. 

In moments like these, I really feel the weight of the 1,000 mile distance from my family.  There's something about everyone being together when life comes at you with its mean, ugly head.  It's knowing that no matter what happens we're all in it together, leaning on one another in prayer, or support, or comfort, or some kind of humor, or even to brave the blame.  Its the power of family.  Now, a Mexican family?  I don't really know how other families work, but there's a big burden of shame to carry if you are unable to be there for your parents when they need you most.  Now being there right when it is most important comes at a cost of high airfare or a good 18 hour drive, and the burden of knowing when to leave and when to wait it out. 

Turns out my dad suffered a small episode, a "mini-stroke" with the risk of having a full-blown stroke if he didn't take good care of himself.   He was released from the hospital the next day.  Normally, it would be safe to assume we're out of the woods, but my dad isn't at his best when it comes to making good, healthy decisions.  He has bad knees, a bulging disc in his neck, and a very low tolerance to pain.  His solution?  Overdoing it on pain meds!  Factor in the dangers of having a stroke, and you've got a recipe for a messy situation.  And guess what?  He did it.  A day after being released from the hospital, my mom found him in a stupor, confused and unable to talk clearly with a big dent in his head. 

Needless to say, this week has been a huge emotional and mental roller coaster.  Trying to decide if we should just drop everything and fly out has been the big question no one knows how to answer.  I married a realist and even he wasn't completely sure about making the call on this one.  Its almost like this big pause button keeps getting pushed on and off throughout the week, day by day, balancing the have-to's with the should's and the maybe's, and somehow I have to find a way to function in between. 

My dad is home now, so for tonight we stay.  Play.  Enter the full day of work ahead and big final paper due tomorrow with nothing but a blinking cursor on the page.  Everything in me wants to give up, hide in a bed full of pillows, excuse myself from making my own good, healthy decisions and stop trying to make my life work right now.  But, I know if I do, then all it amounts to is a big waste, a failure to choose to do the good in the situation.  The good is hard to see sometimes, but you know it's there waiting for you to understand that life is less about what you see and more about what you don't.  To fight for the good as though it defined what happens next.  To know the good is worth the fight. 

In all this, I believe in that.  In all this, I know that God is good, always.  Life happens.  It unfolds like a tide.  Sometimes it will knock you down with a magnitude from some past, unrelated ripple effect.  God is always there, ready to reveal the good to those who persevere, who fight the good fight.  So, I'll pull an all-nighter, get my paper done, tackle my to-do's and make it happen, because I believe in something greater than what I can see or understand right now.