I know I’m supposed to take care of myself. I know I need to take a day off. I know I have other responsibilities and obligations and know that other people who love me and care about me want to see me.
That’s what make the stress and pressure of all of this so much worse.
I told Dad this afternoon “I have to leave soon,” and he said “I don’t want you to leave.”
Of course, I couldn’t hear him say it. I had to read his lips. He’s got the trach. The docs and nurses wanted the balloon inflated this weekend to prevent aspiration, so he couldn’t speak audibly.
So I had to read his lips. I had to see him tell me “I don’t want you to leave.”
I didn’t leave right away. I hung around for a while. Because I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be with my dad. But I had to leave. I had no other time to take care of a project that needed to be complete for the upcoming week, and there would be no time to do it any other time except this weekend.
The rest of the weekend was gone. This afternoon and evening was all I had left.
When I told Dad “I’ve gotta get going. I need to get to village hall to take care of the reports,” he shrugged reluctantly. He didn’t frown, but I knew the look.
And I wish I hadn’t.
Please keep praying for Dad. He’s supposed to be transferred tomorrow. But we need an open bed. Please pray for that open bed.
And that nothing else stands in the way of getting Dad to the next baby step. And that he continues to take small baby steps of progress toward a recovery that is complete enough to get him home again.