I Don't Like This Sandwich

In the middle of this weekend's usual events -- dishes, bedtime routines, a trip to the store -- and extraordinary events -- homemade raspberry pancakes, our 10th wedding anniversary, an afternoon to myself -- I received a call that my dad had been admitted to the hospital and appears to have had a stroke.  Diaper changes and meal preparations were suddenly interrupted by frequent phone calls, sobbing fits and internet searches for flight schedules to Montana.  His condition is stable enough that the testing that will give insight into what happened has to wait for the holiday to pass.  So I am on hold.  And in limbo. Sandwiched between worrying about my dad and working with my kids.  I pick up CeCe's stack of blocks and at the same time I fall apart at the thought of my dad struggling to communicate.  My dad!  One of the most talkative, verbal and opinionated people I know.  I sit and sound out words with Jeep and I get a lump in my throat because, in his current state, my dad can't remember how to read.  My dad!  The one who taught me to love reading with his example of devouring book, after book, after book.

As a parent myself, I don't have the freedom to give my dad all the attention I want to give him.  I want to be on a plane yesterday.  I want to be at the hospital asking questions, holding his hand and making sure my mom gets time off to rest and eat.  But who will look after our kids while I take care of my dad?  Do I take one or both or none with me?  What favors do we call in from friends and neighbors and when?  How can we choose between the plane tickets and preschool tuition?  How do we make responsible financial decisions for our family -- our whole family?  There isn't a guidebook or one clear black and white answer right now.  And so I pray for the strength to make the best decision I can -- for my kids, my husband, my self, and especially for my dad.