Mom tells me that the new nurse says she thinks Dad has 1-3 weeks; one if he keeps not eating and 2-3 if he can start again. Yesterday they were supposed to have delivered a hospital bed, but I forgot to call and ask if they did by the time I got home.
It is against this backdrop that a life-changing decision for me looms. I have an unshakable faith that everything will work out, but I have still been feeling more tired than usual. I had thought that faith would cure exhaustion but now I realize that faith is trust, not total insulation.
I still haven’t told anyone at work about this most recent development concerning Dad’s health. When people speak to me and I don’t tell them I feel as if I am withholding, and then I immediately feel that if anyone tells me that I should go I may walk out and not come back. I understand that this advice is an attempt at kindness, but this matter is too close to my center not to invoke gut reflexes.
For now I’m waiting with my ear to the ground until it is time to act.