A week has come and gone and my dad still seems to be alive (I don’t know in what conditions of consciousness but “technically alive”), once again defeating the doctors’ (& my mother’s) dire prognostics.
It’s been two full weeks since I last heard from my special genderqueer European friend. They sent me a sweet text message after our Denver Pride weekend together, before the visit of their boyfriend from Europe. Then nothing. I reached out again two days ago but there’s been no reply, which is really weird and confusing since they’re usually so responsive.
So here I am, waiting. Waiting for my dad and life to decide what they want to do with each other. Waiting for this person who felt like a partner, albeit for a limited period of time, to give me some response.
And wait is all I can do at this point, really.
Like some of those days when we just have to wait for the rain to stop, or for the clouds to clear, or for the scorching sunshine to give us a break.
Like maybe some of my friends are waiting for me to reach out again once I’ve done enough healing on my own.
And maybe my dad is also waiting, holding on to life, hanging in there, waiting for me to go back to Europe to visit him before he dies…?
The Little Prince and the Fox 