It was a beautiful day for baseball and fireworks and stadium hotdogs with mustard, even though we were sitting with the sun shining directly in our faces in seat so high up that we had to wear blinking lights on our backs to warn away airplanes approaching Cleveland Hopkins airport, and it's always a good day when the Indians beat the Yankees, especially when I can witness the event in the company of my adorable offspring and extended family, so yesterday was great, even if we did have to drive back late last night after the game so I could get up early this morning and get spiffed up for the memorial service for my colleague who died Saturday.
So I already had mixed feeling but even so I wouldn't have enjoyed the game so much if I'd known what I would find in the four messages on my telephone answering machine when we arrived home at 2:30 this morning:
1. That my mother had been admitted to the hospital Monday morning.
2. That when my father told me Sunday that everything was "fine," he meant "fine" in the sense of "not fine."
3. That it may be a few days before we know what's wrong with my mom, and meanwhile Dad is still recovering from his recent stroke and surgery and needs some help.
So it looks like I need to go to Florida. My brother will be there today and will let me know what I can do and when. It feels wrong to have enjoyed a baseball game while people I care about were suffering and needing help, but it's hard to know what to do when the sun gets in my eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment