Ten days ago, I was dipping my toes in the Mediterranean, and soaking up the sun of Barcelona in an outside cafe, while sipping coffee, in a square a few hundred years old, and watching my students learn to love a new place.
Seven days ago, people on the other line of a cell phone who sounded a million miles away, told me there was only a fifty-fifty shot my father would make it through the night. They told me to come fast.
Six days ago, they told me he would be off the vent in a day.
Three days ago, I held my son while they drew his blood, from his tiny little arms, because the peanut, is getting lighter.
Two days ago, a nurse started being more straight with me than all the nurses before. The pneumonia is menacing, the vent isn’t going anywhere.
Yesterday, I was told my gram might just have days to live.
Today, I was told maybe it might be longer.
And so – Read the rest of this entry